


Just Like Home

by Tibbins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s13e09 The Bad Place, Hell, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, The Bad Place, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Continuation of 13x09. Cas is stuck in Hell and the Winchesters are stuck in the Bad Place. Destiel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So it's been a little while before I've posted anything. I moved into a new flat where I now live on my own and couldn't get internet for a couple of weeks and then I started a new, full-time job and I just haven't had the time to properly write. Although I've had this particular fic on the go for a while. It was originally two separate fics, but I kept getting stuck with it so I merged them together and here we are, just past midnight on Christmas day, with a slightly belated present for you.
> 
> This fic starts from the end of episode 7 and kind of skips over episode 8, and continues on from episode 9.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas? Hey, you okay? We – we tried to track you down but you were gone," Dean's voice was quick and worried as he stumbled over the words, "we ran into a bunch of demons, wh-what's happening?" Castiel struggled against the force holding him, cutting off his vocal chords, his chest filled with emotion at the sound of his friend's distress. Asmodeus rolled his eyes, a self-satisfied smirk highlighting the scars on his face. He held the phone loosely in front of him, as though this was a shared experience for the angel to enjoy.

"I'm sorry, I'm fine," the Prince of Hell said, pacing a few steps to either side, never out of Castiel's sight. Cas tried to move, to push against the solid air pinning him in place but he couldn't so much as lift a finger. Asmodeus raised an amused eyebrow at him, as though he could  _feel_  the meagre fight against his power, meeting his eyes as he spoke using Castiel's own voice, "I tried to call and warn you, but I couldn't get a signal."

 _Dean,_ Castiel thought desperately,  _Dean, please, that's not me._  He knew that Dean couldn't hear him, of course. But he still prayed.

"Okay, well what's going on?" Dean's voice had settled slightly, as though hearing Castiel's voice had calmed him somehow. But it was still strained, the calm forced, as though he was  _making_  himself speak evenly and reasonably, asking for a fuller explanation rather than demanding one. He was holding back his concern, giving Cas the chance, the  _choice,_  to elaborate. It was unusual for his friend, and Castiel would have appreciated it far more if the gesture hadn't been directed at a powerful Prince of Hell in a pristine white suit.

"I'm following a very interesting lead," Asmodeus replied, accepting a drink off a silver tray from one of his lesser demons; Drexel, he thought his name was, "I'll fill you in when I know more. See you soon, Dean." He hung up the phone before Dean could respond and Cas was dragged from the room, passing a man with close cropped dark hair and bruises and - was that  _Ketch_? Castiel's invisible restraints lasted until the second the bars closed behind him, the warding glowing brightly for a moment, sealing him inside. He could still hear the faint voice of Asmodeus and the slick English accent of Ketch, though he couldn't make out their words. The warding apparently muffled his hearing.

"Castiel, baby, you finally decided to show! I was getting worried." Lucifer's voice, dripping with sarcasm, filtered through the bars. Unfortunately, the warding didn't interfere with his hearing  _that_  much.

"Yes, well. Apparently I'm the favourite," he sniped back.

"Ouch. No need for the snark, Cas, we're both prisoners here."

If Castiel peered through the bars at the far corner and craned his neck, he could just about see where Lucifer gripped the bars of his own cell. The warding flared but it didn't seem to be doing him any damage. Castiel experimented, grabbing one of the metal bars. He snatched his hand back immediately with a yelp of pain, red welts already sizzling on his skin. Lucifer laughed.

"Yeah, sorry about that, kid, the wards don't work on me. Not like that. I  _made_  this place. I might be an egotistical megalomaniac but I'm not self-destructive."

"Shame." Castiel shook his hand, focusing his grace to heal the burns. It faded the sharp pain to a dull throb but the welts didn't fade completely. These weren't the flimsy cells made for human souls and they were more than strong enough to dampen a seraphim's powers. Castiel cursed quietly.

"Again, ouch."

Castiel rolled his eyes, a gesture that Lucifer couldn't see but seemed to suspect because he chuckled.

"If the wards can't hold you, does that mean you can break us out of here?"

Lucifer sighed dramatically, "sadly, no. I'm still powered down, but hey, seeing as we're dormmates now, tell me a secret. What did Azzy Dazzy want with you?"

Cas gritted his teeth, unsure whether or not to tell him. In the end he decided it really made no difference, "he answered my phone using my voice and apparently he wanted an audience. It seems he has the same ego of his creator."

"Ahh," Lucifer said, "the old psychological torture gig? I get that."

Cas grimaced and retreated from the bars, it's not like he could see anything anyway. There was a short pause, then Lucifer's voice came again, quieter, more earnest.

"So, did Dean-o buy it?"

Castiel frowned at the sudden change in tone, "what?"

"Come on. He must've  _noticed_. You've only just  _met_  Asmodeus, I've known you for  _years_  and still Dean knew something was up when I was possessing you. I mean, granted, it took him a little while to do anything about it but that's not the point. I'm a great actor."

"You're a great pain in the ass," Cas corrected, "how would I know if Dean suspects anything? I didn't exactly get a chance to give him a hint."

"Aww, don't be like that Cassie," Lucifer pouted. Castiel could  _hear_  the pout in his voice. He ground his teeth in irritation, he had  _not_  missed having Lucifer's voice in his head, "there's no need to hide it from me, I'm pretty sure the whole  _world_  knows by now that you can sense if that boy sneezes. Surely you could tell, by his  _tone_  or whatever."

"It was a very brief call," Castiel answered shortly, "and I can't sense when he sneezes, that would be ridiculous."

"Right." The devil's tone was amused. Castiel said nothing, hoping this conversation was over. No such luck.

"So let's assume that I'm right and they're on their way here right now. What are  _we_  gonna do to help them?"

Castiel sat down heavily on the stone bench and leaned against the wall.

"They're not that stupid."

Lucifer let out a disbelieving 'ehhhh' sound. Unfortunately, Castiel couldn't wholly disagree. The Winchesters might be smart, but they  _were_  known to be reckless. Especially Dean. He only hoped that Sam would be able to talk some sense into him.

 

***

 

Apparently, he was right. The Winchesters weren't that stupid. It had been several weeks now as far as Castiel could tell, and no word from either of them. Not so much as a quick prayer in note form to keep him updated. It was endlessly frustrating. He couldn't be sure if Asmodeus was continuing to fool the brothers or if they just hadn't called. Lucifer insisted it was the latter,

"If they knew something was up, why would they call back?" He pointed out to Castiel for the eighth time that morning, or whatever time it was, it was impossible to be sure, it was a few minutes before a demon came to check that they were still in their cages. She spat insults at Castiel but didn't dare taunt Lucifer, in fact, walking past his cage she looked as meek and apologetic as Jack had on that drive home to the bunker, what felt like a lifetime ago. Lucifer scoffed in derision and threw out his own threats, which only made the demon walk faster, head bowed in what was either fear, guilt or a healthy dose of self-preservation.

"Suck-ups," Lucifer muttered, bitterly, "she only wants me to  _think_  she's sorry I'm in here, thinks I won't vaporise her the second I get out. I bet she's laughing with the others, bowing and scraping for that sodden runt I never should've made," he sighed heavily and Castiel rolled his eyes.

If he was being honest, the fact that Lucifer was here and constantly talking at him was the only thing keeping him sane. How ironic that it was also driving him  _in_ sane. It  _did_  mean that he couldn't zone out during long hours of silence, seeing as he had none, which made it easier to keep at least a rough estimation of how much time had passed.

"Like I said, they wouldn't bother if they knew they were just going to get a fake, it means they can't give away that they know it's not you."

"Wouldn't it be  _more_ suspicious if they didn't call to check on me at all?" Castiel sighed.

"Only if you know them," Lucifer said casually, "which Asmodeus doesn't. They'll be here."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in the men that trapped you in another world and have tried to kill you more than once," Castiel snapped. He was tired of Lucifer's goddamn  _certainty_  that the Winchesters would come for him. It clashed too painfully with his own doubts.

"And you don't seem to have any," Lucifer shot back, "these are  _your_  guys bucko, and you're the one acting like they don't care about you enough to come, which makes zero sense. You were the one that wanted to fill them in on the whole  _me_  thing. You thought they'd make themselves useful. Not anymore?"

Castiel clenched his jaw. He didn't have to explain himself to Satan. He heard a scoff through the wall.

"You're  _afraid_  they don't care about you enough to come."

"If they came, they'd only be putting themselves in unnecessary danger," Cas retorted, sharply, "I hope they  _don't_  come. They're smart enough to know that they can't take on Asmodeus by themselves." He ignored the way that his stomach twisted at Lucifer's words, he  _knew_  the archangel was just trying to get a rise out of him, he hated that it was working.

"That never stopped them trying to take on  _me,_ " Lucifer hissed softly. The smugness in his tone was infuriating, but that didn't make him wrong. The Winchesters had faced down Lucifer with the expectation of death looming over them, without a plan beyond keeping Lucifer away from the Nephilim being born, without so much as a hope that they would actually succeed.

"They have other things to worry about," Castiel said, after a moment's pause, "like your  _son_ , they need to find him before Asmodeus or the angels do."

"Sure, sure." Lucifer said dismissively, "but isn't ' _family first_ ' their motto or something?"

"No." Castiel said bluntly.

"Really? I coulda sworn it was something dumb like that."

"Their motto is besides the point. Jack is their family now too."

"Ugh, barf,"

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard he almost cricked his neck.

"So, it doesn't bother you at all?" Lucifer asked, "that they might not be coming?"

"They're  _not_  coming."

"Why are you so certain?"

"Because they're not  _looking_  for me." Castiel snapped.

There was a short pause and then Lucifer began to cackle.

"Oh,  _ouch_. If your precious Dean didn't notice something was off then that's gotta smart somethin' bad. What makes you say that, Castiel? Is your hearing better than mine? How do you know for  _sure_?"

_Because if they were worried, Dean would have prayed to me by now._

"I just do."

Lucifer huffed, "well, that's a shame. I mean, just to be clear, those boys are  _not_ my favourite people. That being said, they  _are_  tenacious, and if anyone could get us out of here, I'd bet on the Winchesters. Oh well, plan B."

"Which is…?" Castiel asked, warily.

"I'll let you know when I've got one," Lucifer's voice contained far more joy than the situation warranted.

"Wonderful," Cas said, leaning back against the wall. The bench was the only decoration in the cell. Unless the rust-brown stains counted as splashes of colour. The wards pulsed dimly if he got too close to them, but otherwise there was no light; he didn't really  _need_  light of course, his eyes were far superior to that of a humans. But it did give everything a grey, oppressive air, as though they had been thrown down here to be forgotten. He supposed that was the point.

Castiel couldn't help the way that his thoughts churned when they turned to the Winchesters. It was small and selfish of him but he too had expected them to burst through the doors, spotted with demon blood, knife in hand within a few days at the most. He had been both relieved and disappointed when they hadn't come at all and he hated the contradiction within himself. It meant that they were safe and free to find Jack, but it also meant that that Dean didn't know him as well as he thought he did, or that he didn't know Dean as well as he thought. Neither option brought him any comfort.

He wondered how long it would take them to realise that something was wrong. Asmodeus didn't have much of an option other than being vague and keeping their conversations as short as possible, lest he risk saying something that would be too much of a giveaway or whether the conversation turned to a topic that relied on knowledge of previous conversations. Eventually,  _surely_  one of the Winchesters would realise how impersonal he had become.

 _Stop thinking like that_ , Castiel chastised himself,  _it's better for them if they don't think anything's wrong._

But in the brief periods of silence when Lucifer seemed to run out of air, Castiel's thoughts kept returning to the idea that maybe the brothers  _did_  guess that something was amiss, but they just didn't care enough to act on it. He tried to wrangle his thoughts into submission, the Winchesters had proven the strength of their friendship time and again, they had saved him and helped him and taken him in when he had nothing, the warmth of their hugs, the sound of their laughter, the joy in their eyes as they had seen him standing by that payphone. They had  _missed_ him. Dean had welcomed him home, told him it was good to have him back, forced him into wearing a ridiculous hat and had  _trusted_  his decision to go and meet up with Duma alone, without the usual bluster trying to get Cas to stay.

 _Perhaps he didn't_ want _you to stay_ , a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered,  _perhaps they had adjusted to life without you and realised that they don't need you anymore_.

Castiel shook himself. It was ridiculous, the whole idea that Dean didn't care about him was ridiculous.

"Lucifer," Castiel called to the adjacent cell, seeking out a distraction, "how's plan B coming along?"

 

***

 

The monsters in the Bad Place were slightly different to the ones Dean was used to, but they died just the same. It reminded Dean of Purgatory so strongly that for a minute he was there, Cas and Benny at his back, surrounded by vampires and Leviathan, a mission to find a way out. Then he blinked, and it was Sam next to him, not Benny, and these things weren't Leviathan or vamps; they were stronger, faster, harder to predict. More like wendigos, which for some reason had been rarer in Purgatory, only the mission was still the same.

But there weren't just the humanoid creatures, strangely proportioned with long, claw-like fingers and heavy jaws that jutted out, dark, patchy skin that blended in with the shadows of the foliage and large, almost perfectly round eyes, which was disconcerting, it made them look almost childlike. There were larger things here too. Animals that shook the ground when they passed. Dean hadn't gotten a good look at one yet, he had pulled Sam behind the nearest tree and stayed there until the shaking stopped and the birdsong returned. Sam had peeked out to get a glimpse and jerked back, pale and wide-eyed. He refused to describe the thing, and Dean didn't ask. Those things weren't really a concern for him as long as they stayed well away, the things that kept him awake were the things at eye level, the ones that came at them swinging, fangs bared, their claws blurring with speed. They were agile and hard to pin down and they were just as likely to run away after an initial charge as they were to fight to the bloody end. They also moved almost as a complete unit, each of their moves complementing each other and Sam had a theory that they were at least somewhat telepathic. Dean could get behind that, but he didn't understand why they kept coming at them. There was easier prey, small mammals and reptiles and even some things that looked a bit like elk, aside from the fangs. They were actually pretty good to eat, and he and Sam still had some dried fanged-elk from their second day here. It had lasted them a while, though Dean still put snares out every couple of nights for a two-tailed-squirrel thing or a weird creature that looked like a cross between a rabbit and a porcupine, just to keep things fresh. Sam rolled his eyes at the snares and commented that they had plenty of food, but he never refused a leg fresh from the spit. Dean never thought he'd miss hot sauce so much.

They had been travelling for almost two weeks now. The forest was never-ending, broken up only by the occasional stream, which the brothers were always grateful for. Dean had had a hip flask on him when on the boat and thankfully, it had transferred. It didn't hold much, but Sam fashioned a bottle of his own out of the empty (and thoroughly washed out) spray paint can which seemed to work fine.

Dean had noticed a change in his brother's posture over the past fortnight, a weariness and frustration to the set of his shoulders. Sam had borne up reasonably well for the first few days of hiking, but after a week, his brother had clearly begun to tire of the constant vigilance. Dean couldn't blame him, he too had to force himself not to jump at every tiny rustle of leaves.

"I'll take first watch," Dean offered, as he did almost every night. If they were going to get attacked in the night, it was likely to be earlier, and Dean would rather be awake if it happened. Besides, Sam could use the rest, two days before, one of the creatures (Dean had begun calling them Krugers, which annoyed Sam which only made the name stick,) had caught his arm with it's claws. The cut hadn't been deep, and Dean had cleaned it out and wrapped it with a strip of his own flannel, but it meant Sam's arm was a little more restricted in movement which wasn't ideal. Sam rolled his eyes and scratched at the makeshift bandage,

"Dean, I'm fine, I can take first," he said, "you need the sleep more than I do, don't think I haven't noticed how often you just 'forget' to wake me up."

Dean shook his head, smiling slightly, "I don't need to sleep much here anyway." He'd fallen back into Purgatory mode almost without realising, and it actually felt pretty good to not have anything bigger than the next meal or the next attack to worry about. He could push his worry for his mom and Kaia and Jack and Cas out of his mind and focus on the here and now. He'd missed this. The purity of it. The simplicity. He belonged in places like this. Nothing but survival, killing and hunting and  _living_. No complications, no worries, just the rule of nature.

"Oh, I didn't realise you'd stopped being human all of a sudden," Sam said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "don't be an idiot, Dean. Of  _course_ you need to sleep."

"Not here, Sam," Dean insisted quietly, he stood, stretched, and stomped out the fire they'd just been using to cook on before sitting back down on a damp log and staring resolutely around at the trees. Having a fire destroyed his night vision, and luckily, the nights here were warm. He'd give his eyes time to adjust to the gloom before it got completely dark. Fire didn't scare away Krugers, it only served to draw other creatures, some predatory, and Dean would much rather try and keep as low a profile as possible during their time here. "And not for at least another six hours."

Sam frowned at him from his own log opposite but said nothing else. He stared into the curling smoke for a while, watching it rise into the sky.

"How are we going to get out of here, Dean?" he asked, softly, his voice pained, "how are we ever going to save Mom when we're stuck in another world?"

"We were already stuck in another world, Sam," Dean replied, "this is just a different one."

"But  _there_  we had resources, technology, friends. Here, we've got nothing."

Dean shrugged and lifted his angel blade, "we've got these, and we've got us. Do we really need anything else?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, "I get that you're trying to make me feel better, but the thought of being trapped here forever doesn't really appeal to me, and it doesn't help Mom either."

Dean shrugged again, "Jack'll get us back."

"You think so?" It was a genuine question,

"Well," Dean said, gesturing, "there's nothing  _here_  but things trying to kill us, so we have to wait on whatever's happening over  _there_ , maybe Jack and Kaia made it to Mom and they're back at the bunker, trying to figure out how to open another portal back here. I don't know, Sam but there's nothing that either of us can do but stay alive long enough to get rescued."

Sam snorted at that, "so what, we're damsels in distress now? Since when did  _we_  sit on our asses and do nothing?"

"Maybe if we had, less crap would have gone wrong." Dean retorted. His tone was light, he wasn't trying to start a fight, merely stating a fact. Sam looked as though he was about to argue, instead he laughed.

"You know, you're different here," Sam said, looking across the still smoking fire pit at his brother, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, he had a strange expression on his face that Dean couldn't quite define, "it's weird, you almost seem… content."

Dean quirked his lips in a smile and leaned back, looking up at the sky. With no light pollution, it was absolutely teaming with stars, "well, you don't get a view like that from underground," he said. Sam followed his eyes and nodded in silent agreement, then he pressed his lips together and looked down at the ground, he kicked at some damp leaves with his boot.

"How are you coping so well here? Don't you feel useless? I get what you're saying that there's nothing we can do, I  _know_  that. I just feel like I should be doing something anyway. Like I'm wasting time just sitting here when we both  _saw_  what Mom's going through."

Dean's jaw clenched and he pushed the memory down, focusing on the trees. Yes, he had seen Mary trapped in a metal cage, spikes on the inside, screaming for help. Yes, he had remembered her pain in the echoes he still carried from Hell. But that memory wouldn't help him here. He cleared his throat.

"Honestly? I'm not thinking about it," he said, spinning the angel blade in his hands as he stared into the underbrush, looking anywhere but at his brother.

"You're not thinking about it?  _You_?" Sam said in disbelief, "Dean, pulled a  _gun_  on Kaia to get her to come along with us, you said 'no matter what it takes' to save Mom and now you're just not thinking about it?"

Dean shifted his position slightly to glance behind him. Their camp tonight might be on the water's edge, but Krugers could jump pretty far and he had no idea whether or not they could swim. Best to be safe.

"Look, all I know is that we're here. We've got no Jack, no Kaia, no Cas. No one knows where we are, all we can do is stay alive long enough for them to figure it out. So I'm staying alive, and so are you. There's nothing else to think about."

Sam snorted, "right, like you don't normally brood over every bad thing we've ever done or seen or gone through," he said, glancing around himself. He checked his six less often than he should, but Dean had him covered. "I just want to find Mom and go home."

"Wishing don't make it so," Dean said, "she's not even  _in_  this universe and we've got no way to make a portal. We have to assume Jack and Kaia got her and they're all fine."

"You have a lot of faith in Jack all of a sudden," Sam said, testily, "you were the one who assumed he was looking for Lucifer."

"Well, now we know different. And he's our only ticket out of here so…" Dean trailed off,

Sam was quiet for a moment,

"I wish I could be as sure," he said, looking somewhere behind Dean.

Dean considered his brother. He looked beaten-down, tired, and Dean felt a rush of guilt. Sammy didn't belong in a place like this, Dean hadn't realised just how big the toll on him was.

"You're meant to be the positive one," he said, gently, trying to catch his brother's eye. When Sam finally looked at him, Dean was surprised to see that there were unshed tears there. "Hey," he said, "I know this place is tough, but we're tougher, okay? We've just gotta stick it out until Jack opens another portal. It can't be much longer, right?"

Sam's smile lasted for half a second.

"We'll be okay," Dean said, "we're the freaking Winchesters. We've faced worse than this."

"Right,"

"I mean it, Sam. We're gonna get home and Mom and Cas and Jack are all gonna be there and we're gonna deal with the next thing." Dean held his brother's gaze, he wasn't entirely lying. He  _did_  think that Jack would probably come for them at some point, he just wasn't sure when exactly that would be.

"That's a nice dream, Dean. I just can't believe it right now. This place… it feels so cut off from everything, you know? Like we're trapped here forever, just killing Krugers and hiding from what are basically dinosaurs. It's like a bad movie and I just want out." Sam took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow, clearly calming himself. Dean's guilt churned inside him. He'd been so selfish, focusing only on the man vs monster aspect of this new world that he honestly hadn't given any thought to how they might get back if Jack didn't come through. He'd forgotten that Sam wasn't like Benny, Sam wasn't like  _him_. Sam needed other people, he needed crowded streets and overpriced coffee and things to research. Sam needed humanity. His brother ran a hand through his hair and rolled his head on his neck. Dean heard the bones pop, even from across the fire pit.

"How are you so calm about everything?" Sam asked again, suddenly irritated, "I feel like I'm losing my mind here, but you're more focused than you've been in a long time. I thought you'd be spiralling by now, going crazy trying to find Mom. How are you just… not?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno, it's just… everything's easier here. It's just making it through the day, the next fight, the next meal. It's not exactly complicated. It's just like Purgatory, you know?"

"I hated it there too," Sam said, "I don't know how you got through it."

"Just focus on the fight. There's nothing else except surviving, so there's no point in worrying."

"Not even about mom?"

Dean stopped, that image of Mary in the cage back in his brain. He shook himself.

"It's easier not to think about that here," he said eventually.

"Right, 'cause that's healthy."

"What do you want me to say?" Dean said heatedly, "I don't hate it here. It's not Hell, there aren't any angels or demons to worry about, there's no sneaking or red tape or good monsters or bad humans, it's clean cut and simple. There's us, and there's  _them_. We don't need the right words to talk them out of being bad, we just need a blade.  _This_  is hunting. We kill the monsters and as a bonus, we don't die. The family business."

"And what about saving people?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "we're the only people here, Sam. We're saving ourselves."

"And our friends back home? Our family? Don't you wanna get back to them?"

Dean hesitated and closed his mouth. He had a sudden memory of the kitchen at the bunker, take out food. Laughing at Charlie and Cas as she showed the angel his answer in one of those paper game things. Clinking beers with his brother. Being happy.

"I do," he muttered, hating the way his voice cracked, "but I'd settle for them being okay."

"Whatever," Sam said, standing and walking over to a nearby tree, where he settled down to sleep, a clear dismissal of the conversation.

"Sam?" Dean said, half-turning his head, "for what it's worth, I wish you were back there too."

He heard a huff of breath as Sam turned over.

"It's not worth very much, Dean."

"Yeah, I know."

Silence fell. Sam seemed to fall asleep instantaneously, but it was only after an hour or so that his brother's breathing came deep and even enough to be genuine. Dean kept guard, staring into the darkness, standing to stretch and shift his vantage point every so often, listening to the wind in the leaves and the nocturnal shrieks and calls of the inhabitants of this planet. Ready for the next fight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter.  
> From here on out it's gonna take me longer to post seeing as this chapter was already written,  
> I was tempted to merge it in with the first chapter but thought it would be too long.
> 
> There's a little more action in this one.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

He let Sam sleep until daybreak then nudged him with the toe of his boot. He was tired, sure, he'd definitely need his four hours tonight, but the sounds and smells of the wilderness had kept him alert enough until the sky lightened and once they were actually moving it would ease the stiffness of his joints. There had been no attacks although Dean was sure they were being watched from afar, he had kept his angel blade in hand. Now he tossed Sam some jerky and, chewing some himself, they once more started into the woods. It had been a silent agreement between the two brothers to keep moving, especially with Krugers everywhere, although Sam raised the question now of whether it would be wiser to stay put, start building a fortress.

"It'd make us easier to find when Jack gets here," he said.

"It'd make us easier to find, period," Dean pointed out, "we can't make a home here, Krugers aren't stupid, if we kept coming back to the same place then sooner or later, we'd get trapped."

"Really? I thought you were all  _for_  making a home here," Sam shot back irritably, "seeing as you like it here so much."

"I never said I liked it, I said I don't hate it," Dean said, rolling his eyes, "don't get pissy. Besides, you really think sitting around all day will make you feel  _more_  useful? At least when we move, we have more of a chance at running into something that might help us."

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, I just… if there were any walls, I'd be climbing them, you know? This whole world freaks me out."

"Yeah, it ain't exactly Disneyland."

"I mean, it could be. It's not like we've ever been." Sam said.

Dean snorted a laugh, "it's a small world after all."

A little of the tension between them dissipated at the shared joke, though Dean could still sense a whole host of unsaid words emanating from his brother. He sighed dramatically.

"Just say whatever it is you wanna say, Sam, don't get bunged up."

"I'm just  _worried,_ Dean," he said, "about Mom and about Jack and Kaia, and about  _us_. We're literally a world away from home right now. What if Jack can't find us? What if we never get out of here and we never know what happened to Mom? What if people die because we can't be there to save them? I don't like feeling powerless, Dean. And you, with your 'it'll just happen' attitude, that's not helping! Because maybe it won't. You haven't talked about trying to find another way back. You've put all of your faith in Jack, who you  _hated_ , like, a month ago. Do you even want to go home?"

The question stung more than he thought it would, even more so because he was less sure on the answer than he should have been. Yes, he wanted to be a family again. He wanted him and Sam and Mary and Cas and Jack to live in the bunker, happily ever after, hunting down the bad guys and saving the world. But he had also wanted Sammy to finish college and marry Jessica and look how that turned out. What Dean wanted didn't mean crap. Even if they did get back to earth, it wouldn't work out the way he wanted it to. Mary would probably head out on her own again and Cas would take off too, seeing as how he never seemed to stick around for longer than a few months before finding an excuse to leave. Plus, there'd be another huge disaster, probably caused by their return and they'd lose more friends along the way trying to fix it. Luckily, Sam didn't seem to require an answer from him.

"The  _last_  thing we did on earth was intimidate a young girl into coming with us to an abandoned shipyard to get her to dream-walk for us." Sam said. "We've done better things, but  _that's_  what Kaia and Jack are going to remember about us. I wish we'd done it differently."

"I wish I'd called Cas," Dean said. The words were out of his mouth almost unintentionally, "he's probably still wandering around Tucson. He doesn't even know we found Jack. I should've called him."

Sam seemed surprised, "yeah, I guess I just didn't think-"

"-that he might wanna know his kid's okay? Me neither, apparently. I didn't even send a prayer."

"Well, to be fair, we did just find out our mom was alive and kidnap a teenager."

"I still should've called."

Sam didn't reply, though he had a half-smile on his face that didn't quite fit with the conversation. Dean used the silence to try sending a prayer to Cas now, it wouldn't be his first since he'd arrived, but he didn't have that same feeling of connection he usually did when he prayed to the angel. He figured they were too far away, maybe this planet had different laws regarding the celestial. Either way, Cas couldn't hear his apologies any more than Mary could. He tried all the same.

Dean took another bite of his jerky, chewing thoughtfully, "we should get some more miles on us," he said, "it might actually be easier to avoid Krugers if we switch our schedule 'round, start sleeping during the day instead. Maybe their night vision sucks."

"How do you figure that?" Sam asked, incredulous, "their eyes are huge."

"Well, they mostly show up in the day," Dean said, "and big eyes means they struggle to get light or something. I dunno, man. Cas made me watch a documentary. David Attenborough doesn't exactly cover other universes, but I figure the logic's sound… Or it would be if I could remember it."

Sam rolled his eyes but chuckled. The sun rose slowly, huge and orange, it seemed to bathe the whole forest in a dull fire. They kept walking, and although Dean felt better when he was moving, he had to admit that hiking without anywhere to go was a lot more tiring than having a destination in mind. At least in Purgatory he had always had something to aim for, he  _had_  a way out, he had just had to find Cas first. Here, it felt a little less real, like he was in a video game on sandbox mode. If he had been alone, he knew he would have been searching for a specific place. Not the fortress that Sam had suggested, but at least three separate, defensible positions that he could run to if needed, and where he could get some sleep with less of a chance of waking up with his entrails on the outside. He'd be mapping the landscape properly, exploring, not just trudging through the foliage in the vain hope that they'd stumble on something useful. But Sam was here, and it was safer to stay on the move.

"What documentary was it?" Sam asked after about an hour.

"Huh?" Dean said, blinking,

"The David Attenborough documentary that Cas made you watch, was it any good?"

"It's Attenborough, man, of course it was  _good_. I think it was one of the Planet Earth ones." His lips pulled up in a small smile at the memory of Cas nodding along to the narration, fascinated. Dean had made a joke about him not knowing all of the trivia already and Cas had snapped that he had been a  _soldier_ , and hadn't had the time nor the opportunity to study his father's creations in any great detail. He looked sad as he said it.

_"It's only really since coming here that I learned to fully appreciate all of His creatures," he had said, eyes still watching the screen, "I spent all my time in war, I didn't think anything else was as important as the work I was assigned. I now know that Naomi had something to do with that, of course. I like to think that had I been free to choose, I would have chosen humanity long ago."_

_"Really?" Dean said, twisting to face the angel, "even after all the crap we've put you through?"_

_Cas met his eyes then and smiled softly, "even so," he said, "there is much here I wish I had more time to study."_

_"Well, you've got the rest of your life," Dean laughed, turning back to the tv as a wolf pack gave chase to a hare, "so that's like, eternity."_

_"Unlikely, with the life we lead," Cas said, his own eyes flicked back to the screen. Dean didn't like what Cas had said, but couldn't honestly contradict him, so instead he focused on the programme and started cheering on the wolf pack. He could see Cas watching him out of the corner of his eyes and turned his head, Cas looked amused and relaxed, it was nice considering how tightly wound he could be sometimes. His coat was draped haphazardly over the arm of the sofa and he leaned back into the cushions, comfortable. His hair was a little messy from the wind where they had driven to the store for the snacks that were scattered around Dean's side of the sofa. Dean didn't want to consider those words, nor the implications of them. That Cas' life was likely to be millennia shorter than it should be was Dean's fault._

_"Why do you root for the wolves in this scenario?" Cas asked him, there was no judgement in his tone as there would have been in Sam's, although Dean knew that Sam always hoped that the prey animal would get away._

_"I dunno," Dean said, "they're working hard for it and they're hungry. They've got kids to feed and we've been following them for a while."_

_"But the hare is running for its life." Castiel countered, leaning forward slightly, eyes genuinely interested, "is that not just as worthy a cause?"_

_Dean shrugged, the intensity of Cas' gaze was uncomfortable. "Sure," he said, "but I like wolves better."_

_Cas nodded and sat back again, attention back on the screen. Dean watched Cas' face while the hare made a dangerous, and ultimately fatal, hairpin turn._

_"Who do you root for Cas?" Dean asked._

_"Both," Cas said immediately, "if the wolves win the cubs get fed, if the hare wins it lives to go back to its own young. Neither motive is exactly worth condemning." He watched as the wolves headed back to their cubs with their prize dangling limply from bloodstained jaws._

_"Although," the angel added, "I do like stories of underdogs beating impossible odds. Whether or not they are actually related to dogs."_

_Dean grinned, "next week we're watching Hoosiers," he said firmly._

"Dean!"

Dean jerked out of his thoughts, two Krugers had emerged from the trees ahead of them, Dean exchanged a look with his brother and spun around, placing his left shoulder to Sam's right. Sure enough, there were another four behind them. They'd been so silent. Dean cursed himself for his distraction, he should have sensed them coming. He hefted his blade and stared down the approaching Krugers, he felt Sam's posture shift next to him, braced, while they waited for the charge.

It came a few seconds later, one of the Krugers shrieked a command and they all rushed forward in a wall of slashing claws and mottled skin. These creatures weren't looking for food, not with that look in their eyes, the look of bloodlust that he recognised all too well. He grinned suddenly, all other thoughts fled, only the fight remained. He ducked a swipe from one of the Krugers and jabbed with his blade, he slashed its torso, not deeply, but enough to hurt. Another immediately swung to his left and Dean shoved Sam out of the way, then, rocking back on his feet, he slammed the blade home into the creature's neck. Blood spurted from the wound as he pulled the blade back, thicker than a human's blood and such a dark red it was almost black.

He let the Kruger fall, almost tripping one of its packmates. It jumped instead, slamming Dean to the ground. He rolled, trying to pin it, but it was too agile. He stabbed at the leg of another who had just reached him, slashing deep into the calf. The thing screamed and fell backwards, but Dean was suddenly bucked off the Kruger underneath him. He flipped in the air and landed hard on his back, winded, and another Kruger was on top of him, raising its claws to tear out Dean's throat. Dean twisted and managed to slice the thing's forearm, making it draw back, which gave Dean enough time to stab the Kruger in the eye. Dean pushed the corpse off himself and leapt to his feet.

The Kruger with the cut leg had scrambled away, out of the fight and into the trees, Dean didn't pursue, he still had three more coming at him. One looked pissed at the shallow cut on its stomach, oozing blood. Dean growled and charged, he slid between them on the pool of blood and jabbed the blade at where the kidney would be on a human. It didn't feel like he'd hit a kidney, but it was something more solid and it jammed the blade inside the Kruger which shrieked with pain, whirling around. Dean lashed out with his fist and it collided with the Kruger's jaw, he felt the bone shatter and the Kruger collapsed. Dean shook his fist once, ignoring the pain blooming on his own hand, the other Kruger had looped around him and slashed at his back, Dean dropped to the ground and rolled, grabbing at the blade still lodged in the downed Kruger's… whatever vital or non-vital organ it was in.

He had to plant his feet on the creature's spine to pull the blade free, and three sharp claws narrowly missed his eye when he finally jolted back, bloodied blade in hand. He stabbed upwards, giving only a glancing blow to the creature's shoulder, it blinked at him and snarled, kicking him hard in the stomach. Dean heard two of his ribs crack as he soared through the air and smashed into a tree. He slid to the ground as the other Kruger loomed over him. He met its eyes and pushed himself back to his feet. They circled each other, then Dean feinted right before lunging left; it blocked him, these things were  _fast_ , and grabbed his wrist, Dean twisted and dropped the blade, catching it in his other hand and shoving it into the Kruger's chest. The bones of his wrist ground together painfully for a few seconds before the clawed hand gripping it fell away. The remaining Kruger was on him almost immediately, a sharp elbow collided with his already fractured ribs and Dean doubled over, gasping in pain.

His eyes searched out Sam, who had just finished off his own Kruger and looked mostly unhurt, aside from a split lip, bruised knuckles and what looked like a dislocated shoulder. Relief coursed through him for a split second before the Kruger's claws glanced at his side. Dean yelled and jerked himself forwards, falling to his knees and stabbing blindly underneath his shoulder, catching the Kruger deep in the stomach. The Kruger convulsed on his blade before sliding off, thick blood bubbling from its mouth. Dean ignored it and sat back on his heels, gasping. Sam was at his side in a second, voice frantic, checking him over.

"M'fine," Dean grunted, though he accepted his brother's help to stand, "couple of busted ribs and a few cuts, I'm good."

" _Dean_ ," Sam said, his voice pained, "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise there were that many of them. I can't believe I took so long to kill  _one_. How the hell did you kill  _five_  by yourself? These things aren't exactly your standard vamp or demon."

"I only ganked four," Dean said, "one got away, though it won't be walking for a while. And to be fair, I think yours was their leader, it was the one that led the charge. Now stand still, let me set that shoulder."

Sam winced as Dean counted to three and popped the shoulder back on one. He shook his arm out, testing it. It was the same one with the cut, though the makeshift bandage had fallen off in the fight. The wound seemed to be healing nicely.

"You should wash that out," Dean said, nodding to the cut and retrieving the torn off piece of his shirt. If they washed it, Sam could use it as a sling to help his shoulder, it might just about be long enough.

"And  _you_  should take it easy," Sam retorted, "look, let's just head back over to the river and stay there for the night. We'll need the water  _and_  the rest and I don't really wanna stay here, in case that other one wakes up. Come on."

"It's not even noon yet, Sam, we barely made any headway."

"Headway to what exactly? There's just forest and more forest here, Dean. We're not exactly going anywhere special."

Dean didn't protest further as Sam led him back the way they'd come, fussing over him like a mother hen. His head was ringing, and now that the adrenaline was ebbing away, he was beginning to feel all of his injuries. His ribs spiked with pain at every step, making his breath tighten, and his wrist crunched ominously although it didn't seem to be broken. His spine was definitely bruised though, it was gonna be hard to sleep on that tonight, and it wouldn't be helped by those cuts on his side either. Still, he'd definitely felt worse, so he managed to keep a good pace as they found the river again. They were further downstream than they had been when they woke up, but they hadn't gotten far enough to make their scent trail go cold. If Krugers or anything here actually hunted by smell. He didn't know. Cas could probably have told him, he'd taken more in from David Attenborough than Dean had.

Dean headed straight into the river and hissed as the cold water bit at his wounds. He shrugged off his flannel, grimacing as the motion aggravated his ribs and washed it as best he could before it dried all crusty and gross. He wrung the shirt out and tossed it over to Sam, who sat back on the shore, watching him, probably making sure he didn't drown. Dean rolled his eyes and prodded gingerly at his various cuts and bruises, the cuts on his side weren't too bad, he pulled free a few bits of fabric and hoped that the fast current would take care of the rest. The cold would probably slow his bleeding too. He didn't think he'd lost too much blood, though he was a little light headed. He waded back over to Sam and sank down onto the bank, laying back on the shore to dry in the heat of the noon sun, his flannel spread under him to soften the stones slightly on his bruised back.

"Now that was a fight," he said, grinning at his brother.

Sam scoffed, "you're an idiot," he said, "you could have called that you needed help, I had a few openings, we could have faced them all together, I thought there were only two behind us and I saw one of them run..." he trailed off.

"I think I did pretty good," Dean said, "and I'll bet it looked cool,"

"No one saw, Dean."

"Not the point."

Sam looked out at the water, his face pinched and worried.

"Hey," Dean said, gently, "we're okay. We live to fight another day."

"And with busted ribs, that's not gonna be tricky at all, is it?" Sam snapped, "what if there are more of them next time? Or even the same number?  _I_ can't fight five, Dean, and in your state, you'd struggle with one."

"I'll manage," Dean said, raising his head up, ignoring the spikes in his ribs and the way it made him want to wheeze. "I'll walk it off."

"Right. Your solution to everything," Sam said bitterly, "just ignore all the bad stuff and focus on the fight, right? That's what I  _tried_  to do today, Dean, and it almost got you killed. Your way didn't work. I can't do what you do, I'm not cut out for this. I'm gonna go crazy. I jump every time a twig snaps and I keep jerking awake at night, just in case there's something coming for us. I can't live like this and I don't understand how you can!"

"I'll tell you how," Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows, despite his ribs screaming in protest. "You do it because you have to, Sam. You do it because that's how you  _survive_. You learn fast or you die faster. This has always been our life, this place is just honest about it."

Sam shook his head, "this has never been my life."

"Well, good for you." Dean rested his head back on the ground and closed his eyes, holding in the shudder that ran through his body as both his bruised spine and his ribs cried their pain at the same time. He exhaled long and inhaled little, taking shallow breaths to try and ease the ache. What he wouldn't give for some Tylenol right now.

"Is this really all you think your life is," Sam asked, quietly, "an endless struggle for survival? Did you never see anything  _good_  about it?"

Dean cracked an eye to look at his brother, he was staring into the water, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, as though Dean's words had truly hurt him. Dean felt guilt settle heavily on his chest,

"Come on, man," he said, "you know that's not how it is."

"I thought I did," Sam said, "but it turns out, I barely know you at all. After Mom got pulled in after Lucifer, and Cas died, I thought you'd go on a rampage trying to get them back. Instead you gave up and practically imploded on yourself. I've known you my entire life. I'm your  _brother_. How did I get you so wrong?"

"I'm an enigma," Dean said wryly, "Sam, we've got bigger problems than my grieving process."

"Right, except you won't talk about those either. All you keep saying is that we just have to wait for Jack to show up."

"Well, you haven't exactly had a better idea." Dean said heatedly, turning his head to actually meet Sam's eyes, although he couldn't imagine his glare was particularly effective from this angle, "and for the record, there is a hell of a lot of good back home, and I  _do_  wanna get back to it. But if I focus on what we left behind, I won't be watching your back  _here_. I've gotta keep you safe, Sam. Nothing comes before that, nothing.  _That's_  what my life is! And you know what else? I  _hate_  that you're here. This the kind of place you shouldn't ever be!"

"So you think I'm too incompetent to handle it?" Sam stood up, fists clenched at his sides, "is that why you took on five Krugers by yourself and left me one? You don't think you can rely on me as backup?"

"Oh, and you've been so reliable since we got here," Dean countered, wincing as he gestured with an arm and jarred his side in the process, "the only thing you talk about is going home, or saving Mom, neither thing we can actually do. And I get it, I do, But wallowing isn't helpful in a place like this. You need to bury your crap and unless we actually stumble on a solution, keep it buried or you're gonna get us both killed. I got distracted back there and I didn't hear them coming. I screwed up and now I'm weaker for it, and  _you've_  been fighting sloppy since the novelty of a new world wore off. Those are the facts that matter. Not that Mom's somewhere else, not that Jack may or may not find us, not that Cas has no idea where we are or why we stopped checking in. You need to get your head in the game or we lose!"

Sam took two steps forward to tower over his brother, Dean couldn't see his expression properly, but figured he should probably be standing. He levered himself up slowly, it took him longer than he would have liked, but Sam looked no less angry for those few extra seconds.

"You were the one that told me I had to keep the faith," Sam said, jabbing a finger at his brother, "to hope for things to get better because you sure as hell couldn't. I'm not just going to  _accept_  that this is our life now, I won't."

"You don't have to accept it. Just survive it, that's all I'm asking." Dean took a deep breath and regretted it immediately. One of his hands went to his ribs and he saw Sam's eyes soften as they caught the motion.

"Look," he said, "this place sucks, I know that. And I know I've been a dick, and it seems like I'm trying to push you into forgetting about Mom and everyone we've, hopefully, got waiting for us back home. But I just want to keep you safe, Sam. That's all I ever want, and it's hard when we're in precisely the kind of place that you should never be. And it's not because I don't trust you, and it's not that I don't think that you're capable, I know it's not the Krugers that are tearing you down. You were there for me when I was in my Bad Place, even if you didn't know how to help, you were there and that _mattered_. I just wanna do the same for you. This, _h_ _ere_? This is the kind of Bad Place that I understand, and I'm just trying to help you through it as best I can. So, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have pushed you so hard."

Something flickered in Sam's eyes, too fast to define. But he smiled a small, genuine smile.

"I'm sorry too," Sam said, "and I'm sorry I couldn't get through to you when you needed me to."

Dean gestured dismissively, grimacing when he aggravated his ribs. Sam took off his own flannel and gave it to him,

"Here," he said, "that might soften the ground a bit more. Get some sleep, I'll keep watch. We might as well try and adjust our schedules now. Give the nocturnal approach a go."

"You sure? We didn't exactly get very far today, we could get some actual distance on us if we kept going."

Sam shrugged and smiled, "we've got nowhere to be just yet," he said. Dean grinned and snagged the shirt, laying it over his own and then lying on top of it as carefully as he could. He picked out a couple of particularly bothersome stones and threw them into the water before settling himself down and closing his eyes. Luckily, the sun was hidden by clouds, though the day was no less bright for it. He tried to focus on the sound of the water, the light breaths of wind in the trees and the scuffing of Sam's shoes as he chose a suitable vantage point. He pushed away the aches from his body and tried to force himself to relax, gripping the angel blade in hand, just in case. It was a long process, each time he got to the fugue state between sleep and alertness, an unexpected sound jolted him back, heart pumping, hand tightening on the blade. But then Sam's boot would crunch on the stone, or he'd clear his throat and no warning cry of danger would come and he could doze once more.

 

***

 

When Dean finally opened his eyes, the sun had moved, it was much lower in the sky now, hanging on the horizon like an overripe fruit just waiting to fall. He was groggy but felt a little better, until he moved. He groaned in pain as he jarred his bruised spine, his ribs and his side all at once. Sam looked down at him from the tree he was leaning against.

"Did you get any actual sleep?"

"A little," Dean said, "how long have we been here?"

Sam shrugged and walked over to help his brother to his feet, "about four or five hours," he said, "so whatever you got wasn't enough."

"I'm functional," Dean said, waving his brother away and shaking himself.

Sam filled up their water containers from the river while Dean shrugged his flannel back on and tossed Sam's back to him before they started walking, they didn't have anything else to pack up, which was handy, it made for light travel and a quicker pace, though not as quick as Dean would have liked. He knew that Sam was keeping his strides shorter and insisting on regular breaks for Dean's sake, but he wasn't exactly in a position to do anything about it except be grateful.

The slow darkening of the world around them gave their eyes time to adjust, although it was far more difficult to navigate the thick foliage. Fortunately, they had experience hunting at night, although they were a little rustier than Dean had thought, and they managed to avoid too much noise, as long as they moved carefully. Other creatures in this forest had no such qualms about making themselves heard. Eerie howls punctuated with squawks, clicks, hums and rustling made for a cacophony that wasn't present during the day. It seemed most things in this world were nocturnal, perhaps Dean had made a bad call to change their routine. He kept looking behind him, casting his senses out in as wide a net as he could, listening for any sign of something approaching that was bigger than a fox, or whatever passed for a fox here. They walked mostly in silence, only talking when they paused to rest and even then they spoke as little as possible. During the day, the woods merely felt dangerous. At night, everything became a threat. Any sound that they made could be the perfect cover for something with far more experience hunting in these woods. The tension the brothers carried with them was pervasive. Although after a while a few trickles of moonlight dappled the ground, tinging the world a strange, ethereal blue. With the improved visibility, Sam relaxed considerably, even going so far as to try and start a whispered conversation. Dean replied with single syllables, refusing to lower his guard. His ribs throbbed from constantly twisting to look over his shoulder and his eyes darted in every direction. The movement kept his thoughts from wandering, the pain he was feeling was only the punishment for his failure to stay focused. It couldn't happen again. Fear curled in him at the thought and every time his mind tried to tempt him to get lost in warm thoughts of home, he yanked them back forcefully.

Hours passed and they made good progress, although levels of progress were difficult to determine as they really had no comparison or endgame. Basically, they walked a lot, they rested a lot and no Krugers bothered them. Sam seemed to think that Dean had been right and the late-night raids they had previously had weren't the norm on the Krugers' part. Dean however, was certain they would have a guard of their own and could feel those bulbous eyes on him, even if they made no attempt to attack. It itched like a rash he couldn't quite reach and he kept his blade in hand. The sky had faded to light grey by the time Dean finally called a halt so Sam could get some sleep. They had been walking all night and hadn't met a single Kruger.

Dean set up a perimeter around Sam, who conked out almost immediately after lying down. He paced, restless, taking in the spaces between those odd rock formations and the deep shadows that enveloped the trees, searching for any sign of movement. He was surprised nothing had come for them, not even a more animal-like creature had crossed their path in the dark. Dean walked a few paces into the treeline and set some snares with some strong vines he had found soon after appearing here. Hopefully they'd catch breakfast, they couldn't rely on jerky forever and Dean had made it clear that he didn't trust the plants not to kill them immediately.

Cas probably would have been able to tell which ones would be poisonous or not, being immune to things like that, they could have just made him eat some and tell them if it was safe. Dean snorted at the image of Cas glaring at the indignity of it all while taking a very deliberate bite from a leaf. Then he shook that image away and refocused, setting the last snare and making his way back to where Sam snored softly. He couldn't get distracted again. Unfortunately, now that they had stopped moving and with the sky beginning to lighten, the bloody sun beginning to peer over the horizon, setting the forest alight, the tension that had kept Dean so alert was beginning to ebb away and it was getting harder and harder not to focus on the home they had left behind and the family he had abandoned.

He took to pacing the perimeter again and after a short while, he stopped to study the rocks instead. They were large, lumpy things, rough to the tough and haphazardly strewn. There were rocks like these all over, but there were many more of them here. Dean vaguely wondered why, there wasn't anything different about the terrain. There weren't really any mountains or valleys. Sometimes the ground sloped gently one way or the other but there wasn't anything so dramatic as a hill. There was no reason for this part of the forest to have more weird rocks than any other. They were kind of pretty, he noticed grudgingly, they had a glossy tint to them, like an oil spill, with the hints of bright colour amid the metallic bronze and grey. He walked around one and inspected it, keeping his ears sharp for any sound of approaching Krugers. It looked… like a big rock. A weird, big rock, So, he wasn't a geologist; but there was something… comforting about the rocks. Like they were the only things in this world that weren't malicious killers. He hadn't noticed it when he passed them before, but with them all grouped together like this… yeah, he definitely felt something.

"You'd like these rocks, Cas," he said, it was less of a prayer, more of an idle speculation, but he felt the words flutter away all the same. As though they were actually  _going_  somewhere.

Dean started, staring at the rock, eyes widening. Then he spun, searching as far as he could through the dark trees to the glint of the river beyond them and around again, scanning the foliage and the rocks.

"Can you hear me?"

The question was pointless of course. Cas wouldn't be able to communicate whether he could hear him or not. But something was definitely different about his prayer. So he tried again,

"Cas, I think you can hear me now, I dunno why, maybe it's these rocks. Me and Sam, we found Jack, he showed us where Mom was, we didn't stop to think, we just had to get to her, you know? So we tried, but now we're… somewhere else. We don't know where Jack is, or if he managed to get Mom back or not. God, I hope so. Either way, me and Sam are stuck here. Kaia called it the Bad Place. And it's, er… well, it's kinda like Purgatory, and that would be okay, except that Sam's here too, and this place isn't good for him, so stop with your lead in Tuscon and… I dunno, I dunno if you can even do anything about it."

He paused then, considering. If Jack hadn't made it back to Earth yet, then what exactly could Cas do? He couldn't fly and most of his powers seemed to have greatly dimmed when he lost his wings. He couldn't make holes in the fabric of space any more than Dean could.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking, "I'm sorry to put this on you. I'm sorry I didn't call the second we found the kid and I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get through to you before now. If you find Jack, tell him we're in the Bad Place. If he can't get us out then tell Mom… tell Mom…" What? What could he possibly say to Mary to make things right between them? "Tell her that Sammy never gave up on her. Tell her that I'm sorry and that we miss her and that we're gonna try and find a way home. But there's nothing  _here_ , man. Nothing but Krugers and trees and goddamn weird rocks."

A twig snapped and Dean spun around trying to find the source of the noise. A long, sinuous body emerged from a nearby shrub. It looked like a snake, but it had long, spindly legs like a spider's, and beady black eyes that looked far too intelligent. Its tail also ended in a point. Put simply, it was a creature of nightmare. Dean backed away slowly, not ashamed at all to admit that a completely base instinct physically repelled him away from the thing. He headed back towards Sam, who was still asleep. Dean readied to wake his brother, but the creature both slithered and walked (how?!) back into the overgrowth. Dean felt nausea rise in his throat. Given the choice, he'd face eight Krugers on his own rather than go up against whatever the hell  _that_  was.

"Sorry, Cas," he muttered, feeling the words stick in his brain, the connection lost. Sam blinked awake, shielding his eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked, noticing that Dean's blade was held loosely and that there didn't seem to be an incoming threat.

"You don't wanna know the thing I just saw," Dean said, repressing a shudder, "but I think I prayed to Cas."

Sam sat up, frowning, confused, "you… think? Did you forget or something?"

"I mean, I think it actually went through!"

"Dean, did your cut get infected?" Sam sprang to his feet and stepped towards his brother, concern plastered on his face, "here, let me see-"

"I'm  _fine_ , get off," Dean batted Sam's hands away. Embarrassed by the explanation he was about to give. "Look, I've… I've prayed to him a couple of times since we got here, right? Seeing as I didn't call I kinda owed him  _something_. But I don't think they were going through. It felt like they were being… blocked. So I thought it was because we're in another universe with different laws, right? No angel radio waves or whatever. But I was over by those rocks and there's something about them, Sam, they  _did_  something. I… I prayed, and I think it went through. Like those rocks  _made_  the connection or something. This might be it!"

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, Dean could see the hope in his eyes that he was desperately trying to contain.

"What exactly are you saying? That we might have a way back?"

"Cas knows where we are now," Dean said, carefully, there was no point in promising that there was more to it, "and it's because of those rocks."

"Show me," Sam said, immediately striding off in the direction of the cluster of rocks. Dean sighed and followed. This discovery could be the key to getting home, or it might be nothing more than a one-way walkie-talkie. Which would mean that it had already served its purpose, there really wasn't much more either Sam or Dean could say that could help Cas any further… If he knew where they were and what had happened then he would try his best to get them out. If only to beat their asses for being so damn stupid.

 

***

 

The prayer filtered through to Castiel and he started, smashing his head on the wall behind him. The sudden jolt of pain made him curse, rubbing at the spot.

"Whoa, what happened there?" Chuckled Lucifer, "did you just try to punch your way out or something?"

Castiel ignored him, listening to Dean's words; his explanation, his broken apology, he sounded like he was in physical pain as well and the longing that came with it was briefly overpowering. It tore at his insides, alongside the guilt that stemmed from the fact that he could do nothing whatsoever to help them from a cage down in Hell. Dean gave him a message for Mary and the feelings only intensified. Then, Dean abruptly switched back to speaking to Cas with an unspoken plea. Suddenly, the prayer cut off, like Dean had been distracted by something, and the sense of longing with it. Well, Dean's prayer had solved  _that_  mystery at least. He had been growing increasingly worried about the Winchesters over the last couple of weeks in particular, precisely because the familiar pulse of longing that he had quickly learned was just an unintentionally intrusive aspect of the hunter's personality had suddenly gone quiet. He felt anger too, of course.  _Idiots_. Despite the fact that it was a blessing that they  _hadn't_  called Asmodeus and told him that they had found Jack, they should have done. They should have thought to include him in this. Castiel's hand shot out and slammed against the wall with a crunch, hard enough to crack one of the stone slabs.

"You  _are_ trying to punch your way out," came Lucifer's amused tone, "bad news bucko, these stones are made of stronger stuff than that. They reform every six hours, the fun thing about this place is its ingenuity in torture. Only thing you're gonna break is your hand."

Castiel spun and strode as close to the bars as possible without touching them, peering down the blank stone corridor as far as he could in both directions to make sure that there weren't any unwanted ears. Still, he didn't raise his voice above a mutter when he spoke.

"The Winchesters are trapped in another world."

"What?!" Lucifer squawked,

"They went after Mary but got separated from Jack and they ended up somewhere else, somewhere dangerous. They've been there for  _weeks_."

"So they  _did_  find the boy, huh. Good for them. Took them long enough to let you know about it though, am I right? Gee, it's almost as if you haven't even crossed their minds."

Castiel's jaw clenched at the jibe.

"How can we help them?" He demanded of Lucifer.

"From in here? We can't," he said, simply, "not that I'd recommend it anyway, those boys being shot out into space will probably be the best thing they could have done for this planet."

"Like your plan for this planet was so pure?" Castiel shot back, twisting on his heel to glare at the wall separating him from the archangel, "not long ago you wanted to raze it to the ground and Sam and Dean were the ones who stopped that from happening. Your opinion on the Winchesters is  _not_  important right now!"

"Oh? And what exactly is higher on your list of priorities?" Came the slick drawl of Asmodeus. Castiel whirled back around; straightening his posture he squared his shoulders towards the Prince of Hell, but judging from the yawning in the adjacent cell, Lucifer hadn't moved from the bench.

"Getting out of  _here_ , obviously," the archangel said, "and we  _will_ , Asmodeus, I assure you."

"And if that happens, you'll still be pretty much powerless so forgive me if I don't tremble," Asmodeus returned. Then he twisted his torso to face Castiel, hands clasped neatly behind his back, white suit gleaming. Castiel was filled with a roiling hatred and his fists clenched almost of their own accord. Asmodeus cocked an eyebrow, pointedly eyeing the bars, the warding of which pulsed and sent out a painful shock of power. Castiel gasped and his legs shook suddenly from the effort of remaining standing, but he refused to fall, he held the Prince of Hell's eye.

"What do you want?" He spat.

"Impressive. That would have had most seraphim on their knees," Asmodeus said, although he didn't sound impressed.

"I won't kneel to you," Castiel retorted, "what do you want?"

"A great many things." Asmodeus paused as Castiel rolled his eyes, "but the most immediate of which concerns you. I want to find Jack, I want his help and he cares for you, which I can't help but find – ah – amusing," his cool eyes flicked in the direction of Lucifer's cell, "the Winchesters seem to have grown bored of you, they haven't bothered to check in for a while. But I could use an update on what they're up to. They seem to have gone into hiding for some reason. I'm going to need access to your memories and your… sentimental connection in order to truly  _sell_  the part."

"Why bother?" Castiel growled, "if they've gone into hiding then they're not looking for Jack."

"Daisy, trust me on this one," Lucifer put in sardonically, "ain't no one in all of  _existence_ got time for that garbage dump."

The Prince of Hell smirked, a twisted thing with no true joy. Satisfaction seemed to be his optimum level of happiness. Castiel would have pitied him, if he didn't hate him so much.

"I like to be prepared," Asmodeus said, bringing one hand up near his face to inspect his spotless nails, "for any and all eventualities."

"Did you prepare for me refusing to co-operate with whatever it is you actually expect me to do?"

Asmodeus' smirk widened, "as a matter of fact," he said, in a tone that sent fear curling down Castiel's spine, "I did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Indifferent?
> 
> All feedback is welcome and appreciated.  
> Love Tibbins xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I'm back with another chapter! I've been pretty lucky, they've been letting us go early at work this week which means more time for writing! Yay!  
> I'll try to update soon but I'm a little stuck at the moment so you may have to bear with me. In the meantime, feel free to check out my other stories if you haven't already.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Sam spent several days walking around the rocks, mumbling to himself and shooting questions at Dean that made him uncomfortable. Dean didn't like to talk about how he prayed, he didn't like to talk about the connection he felt when he prayed to Cas. The connection, he had noticed, that was absent whenever he prayed to Chuck. Although he felt the words leave his mind in the same way, they always left behind a sense of uncertainty, as though he couldn't be sure whether or not Chuck had heard him. Dean perched on a log, damp from the previous days rainfall; he still watched the trees, although very few creatures seemed to come this way and those that did, didn't linger long. He had gone further out to plant some more snares as the ones he had set around the camp since they had been here had yielded nothing. If they didn't catch anything in the next two days, Dean had said he'd go hunting for another of those fanged elk. The jerky was tough and bitter, but it stopped them from starving and it had lasted a long time. In the meantime, he hoped for some fresh meat for a change and Sam was too fascinated by the rocks to think of anything practical.

Now that there was a definite mystery here, Dean was less comforted by the rocks than he had been before he realised what they could do. That feeling of reassurance now felt like a trap. Why would they feel so familiar when he had never seen rocks like these before? And how the hell did they connect him to an angel that wasn't even in this universe? He kept his distance from them, keeping watch instead; he figured he'd said all that needed saying anyway. Now that Cas knew where they were, he'd come for them. It was only a matter of time. He had no need to stick around Tucson when he knew Jack wasn't there, assuming he was even still  _in_  Tucson. It's not like they'd been able to check in for the past couple of weeks. Dean shook his head, breaking his train of thought. He couldn't afford to get distracted again. His ribs and spine were still sore and the claw marks on his side had barely begun to heal. If it came to a fight, he needed to stay sharp. This waiting around didn't help. He could feel his mind dulling with each minute that passed. It was getting on into the afternoon now and Sam was  _still_  looking at the rocks.

"Hey, Sam," he called to his brother, who looked up sharply, "you know, it's still a rock."

Sam glared at him, then straightened up and wandered over, flopping down next to him.

"It could be our way home," he said, "and you're right, there is something weird about them. I tried praying to Jack. I didn't really feel what you felt but I did feel  _something_ , you know?"

"You prayed to Jack? Will that even work?"

Sam shrugged, pulling out some jerky from his pocket. "I don't see why not. He's half-archangel, right? And he's definitely tuned in to angel radio. Prayers are kinda similar, aren't they?"

"I guess. I never really thought about it."

Sam shot him a sideways glance, "I know you don't like staying still. But nothing's bothered us while we've been here, I haven't seen anything bigger than a rabbit and nothing that hasn't just been passing through."

"Doesn't that strike you as weird? Everywhere else in this place, and I mean  _everywhere_ , we risk tripping over something or squishing something or running into something freaky. But not here? Why are they scared of this place, Sam? Maybe they have a good reason to be wary of those things."

"Or maybe the rocks are protective somehow, keeping the bad things away."

"If that's the case, where are the prey animals? Shouldn't they flock to havens like this? Why would the rocks be protecting  _us_  when we're not even supposed to be here?"

"I get what you're saying," Sam said with a sigh, "but this is the  _one_  thing we've found that has actually helped us."

"So we think." Dean grumbled.

"Are you saying your prayer  _didn't_  get through to Cas all of a sudden?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, it did. I just… it's like you said, I don't like just sitting here, it makes it harder to stay focused."

Sam smiled. It was a small smile and fond.

"You know," he said, "it wouldn't kill you to be hopeful."

Dean let out a sardonic bark of laughter. "It might."

Sam nodded, his smile fading slightly. "I thought I didn't need to keep the faith for the both of us anymore," he said, quietly, "I thought you'd gotten yours back."

"I did." Dean said, before he could stop himself, "but it didn't stick around."

Sam's lips twitched, as though he wanted to say something, but held himself back.

"You'll get it back," he said, with such sincerity that Dean almost believed him, "if my prayer went through then Jack knows where we are too. Two creatures of Heaven on our side, that's not bad, right?"

"Jack's never been to Heaven," Dean pointed out, "and most angels are dicks."

"So we've got the only two good ones. That means something."

"If you say so." Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably. His gaze passed over the rocks, Sam followed his eyes.

"What's the range on them, do you think?" He asked suddenly, "could you pray from here?"

Dean shook his head. "I was about four feet away from one before I felt that weird calm. I guess that might be its radius."

Sam hummed. "I got that too. I thought it might be different for you."

"Why?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, who shrugged, nonchalant.

"It was just an idea."

Dean frowned but didn't press.

"You know," he said instead, "if Jack heard your prayer then figuring out what these rocks are for is kinda pointless."

Sam shrugged again, "it's more engaging than hiking to nowhere," he said.

"For you maybe, I've still gotta watch your back."

"You always watch my back, it doesn't matter what we're doing."

Dean puffed out his chest, "you're damn straight."

Sam chuckled and nudged Dean playfully with his shoulder.

"How are your ribs doing?"

"Not bad, I can fight." He said, twisting his torso experimentally until a sharp twinge made him stop.

"Stop doing that, you'll only make it worse. We should wrap them properly."

"With what? I'm not wasting my shirt on a couple of ribs. How's your arm?"

Sam flicked his arm up and pulled off the makeshift bandage. The cut was healing nicely. It probably wouldn't even scar. Not that they had too many of those anyway, Cas' grace had healed them all away. Dean had never known what to think about that. He had always taken pride in his scars. Stab wounds, bullet holes, claw marks and fang punctures, they each told a story of what he had survived. But he had returned from Hell without a scratch on him, despite the fact that his body had been torn to shreds by that hell-hound. It had been disconcerting to say the least, particularly considering what those forty years in Hell had done to him. He still avoided his reflection most of the time. What he saw didn't match up to what he knew he  _should_  see. The disconnect repulsed him.

 _Ugh, get over yourself,_ he thought, forcing his mind back to the present. Apparently he really sucked at not letting himself get distracted; it was easier when they were moving. He spun on the log to check his six. Nothing, no creepily elongated shadows, no blur of movement, no prickling on the back of his neck that indicated they were being watched. That only increased his tension. In a place like this, when the usual danger stopped was when you really needed to worry. He bit his lip and turned back around, uneasy. His knee bounced restlessly until he stood and pulled the angel blade from his belt.

"I'm gonna go find us some dinner," he said to Sam, "look after yourself for a bit okay? Watch your back."

"Alright," Sam said, his attention still on the rocks.

Dean passed through the formation of rocks to get back to the woods proper, as he passed within their radius, that familiarity washed over him again. It drew up in him a sense of longing, and under that, something he hadn't noticed the last time, fear. Dean set his jaw and moved through the stone husks, wanting to drop to his knees next to Sam and inspect them too. He checked on his snares first, nothing. Perhaps they were still too close. He packed them away for later and moved out until the cries and stutters of birds and insects once again invaded his ears. After the near silence of the rocks, he was almost more relieved by this return to normalcy than he had been after feeling his prayer reach Cas. A two-tailed squirrel hissed at him as it hopped from one tree to another. Elsewhere, a bird rose into the air, cawing in a throaty shriek. This was a place he knew; a world of kill or be killed, not magic rocks and theoretical crap. He stalked through the trees, watching his step. He set up one snare next to what looked like a twisted ash tree although it probably wasn't, and another by a bush with some violet, iridescent berries on it. If he couldn't find an elk, he at least had a chance to catch something. The feeling of being watched returned and he spun, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. No attack came nor were there any distinct sounds that indicated an approach, though he waited for a few tense minutes to make sure. When he finally resumed his hunt, his head felt clearer than it had in days. Eventually, he spotted some likely tracks and followed them, they couldn't be more than a couple of hours old, assuming the elk had found a grazing spot it could still be nearby. These elk seemed to eat insects rather than plants; he had a shrewd suspicion that everything here was at least somewhat carnivorous.

After maybe half an hour of tracking the thing, he found it lurking by what looked like an anthill, but the beetles around it were the size of a child's fist, sucking up stragglers with its tube-like tongue and using its sharp fangs to puncture the carapace. Dean carefully manoeuvred himself around so he was side on to the creature, downwind. He hefted his blade and took aim. Then, he threw it as hard as he could. It spun in the air as if in slow motion, the elk looked up, fangs bared and dripping green slime, just a fraction of a second before the blade hit true, digging deep into the thing's heart. The elk bucked and bolted a couple of paces before toppling over with a crash, flattening the foliage around it. Its side heaving as blood oozed from around the blade, the silver glinting in the dappled light. Dean strode over and yanked it out, dodging the blood spray. Then he stabbed the thing through the eye to kill it properly, no point prolonging its pain, and grabbed its back legs, preparing to drag the thing back to camp. He couldn't help but feel accomplished. It was like his most primal instinct rejoiced at having killed for food. He smiled grimly and began to pull, ignoring the way that it jostled his ribs. He heard a small cracking sound as the scabs on his side broke and probably began to bleed. He sighed and set about his task, the sense of having been productive fading. It would come back when he dragged the thing into camp, and saw Sam's face. He hadn't even been gone two hours and this thing was _big_. It would last them another couple of weeks at least, he squashed the small voice in the back of his mind that worried what it would mean if they were still here by then. He took a short break when he got back to the bush with the purple berries, the snare was undisturbed, it hadn't been out long enough, but he packed it away anyway. They wouldn't need anything it caught now. He took a few seconds to grimace, holding his ribs. He should have been back to normal by now, or at least normal enough to ignore them, but not having the opportunity to let them heal properly had apparently taken its toll. He also checked his side, the wounds dribbled blood but not badly, he dabbed at them with his torn shirt.

He took another courtesy glance around before resuming his trek and froze. A Kruger stood there, off to his side, watching him; another limped out from behind a tree, towards the first. Dean saw the wound in its calf and pegged it for the survivor of the previous fight. He unsheathed his blade and gripped it tight, staring the injured Kruger down. He was still way out of earshot from the camp, and hopefully that one at least had learned better than to mess with him. It stumbled a half-step back. The other's eyes darted from the dead elk to him, to the direction of the camp and didn't move. Dean waited, either for the charge or for the Krugers to slink back into the forest. At the faint whisper of leaves behind him Dean looked over his shoulder, another two Krugers stood there, a little way off, also not approaching. They were locking eyes with the Krugers on the other side. Dean glanced between them, twisting his body sideways so he could keep all four creatures in his sight. Perhaps they were from different packs. Or maybe all Krugers were part of a bigger pack and this was just the latest scouting party, or maybe it was a territory thing. Dean didn't know, nor did he particularly care. All he wanted to know was if they were going to attack him any time soon. He could probably take the one with the limp easy enough, but the others all looked in good shape.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, the thrill of an approaching fight coursing through him. He could fight. He  _needed_ the fight, he looked between the Krugers, daring them to attack, the world went silent, nothing but his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears, and his lips pulled wide in a feral grin. "Come  _on_ , you bastards."

He set his stance and two Krugers stepped forward, one from each side. The injured one stayed back. They didn't move quickly, they seemed to be considering their plan of attack. Then, one of them blurred and Dean lurched backwards to avoid the swipe. He brought his blade up and heard the clang as he stopped the claws only inches away from his stomach, the other hand came down at him and he kicked at the things kneecap, causing it to stumble and lose momentum, the blow it struck only clipped his ear but his head rang with the force all the same. He pulled his blade away, spinning out of reach and tried to stab down on the back of the things neck, but the other creature caught his wrist tightly, claws piercing his skin, twisting. Dean yelled and aimed with his other hand to jab at the Kruger's throat, it stumbled back with a rasping sound, clutching at its neck but the other Kruger was now on its feet again and turning to face him.

Dean hefted his blade and dived forward but a sharp knee connected with his broken ribs and Dean cried out in blinding pain, dropping his blade; made even worse when he slammed to the ground on top of it; a Kruger on top of him, wrestling his arms behind his back. Dean bucked and twisted as much as he could, gasping in pain as each move sent fire through his ribs, but the Kruger held on and after a full minute, Dean slumped, exhausted, breathing jagged and wheezing at every exhale, disturbing the loose, damp leaves on the ground. He coughed painfully and felt blood dribble from between his lips. Great. Taken down by a knee to the stomach. He'd never live that down… not that he was under any illusions that he was actually  _going_  to live. Why didn't they just open his throat and get on with it already? He craned his neck and noticed the Kruger with the limp was picking its way towards them. He growled in frustration, low in his throat. He should have been better than this, it had barely been a fight. Now who was going to watch out for Sam? He gathered the last of his energy and struggled again, attempting to roll onto his side and displace the Kruger on top of him but he was held down easily. His blade was pressing against his ribs, if he could just get a hand loose…

The blade was slid out from under him by the Kruger with the slashed calf. Dean hissed, both at the pressure and the thin cut it made from the angle it was pointed. The Kruger stood and inspected the blade, passing it to the next one without comment. Dean lay there, cursing himself. Suddenly, he was hauled up to his knees, bits of twig and leaves clinging to his sweat dampened t-shirt. He grimaced and glared up at them all as the injured Kruger approached, a look of triumph in its large eyes. Dean's eyes slid past it, to a small, unassuming rock peeking out half-hidden beneath a bush only a couple of feet away, shimmering in the light. Now that his vision was focused on it, he once more felt that comforting warmth. He closed his eyes.

"Goodbye, Cas," he whispered, "get Sammy home."

He braced himself for the blow that would come, maybe they would make it quick, or maybe they would just tear at him until there was nothing left. He hoped not, that was one of his least favourite ways to die.

_NO!_

Something, a blinding, blue jolt of lightning hit him like a punch to the gut, he convulsed, gasping, his eyes shooting open. Power coursed through him; strength, familiar and alien all at once. His wounds closed, his ribs healed, his pain vanished. He looked up and saw the Kruger above him, claws raised. He yanked his hands free from the slackened grip on his wrists and jumped to his feet, snatching the angel blade from the surprised hands of another Kruger he spun and buried it deep in the injured ones chest, time seemed to move again as the Kruger fell backwards, one of the remaining three broke and ran, the other two stared at him, shocked. Dean didn't have time to question what had just happened, he rushed them, dodging blows and swiping with his blade. He felt energised like he had in Purgatory, spurred on by his mission. He didn't have time for fear or exhaustion or pain, everything outside of the fight was irrelevant and he pushed it all aside; his blade slicing through an arm, then piercing a throat. The second body dropped, and the third soon after. And then Dean blinked, confused. He didn't know how many minutes had passed, it might even have been seconds; it had felt like no time at all. He walked over to the rock and knelt, placing his hand on it.

"Was that you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thanks Cas, you really saved my skin. Whatever you did, I owe you a beer for it."

He patted the rock fondly and then stood, moving back to the elk where he hoisted up its back legs and carried on dragging it back to camp, kicking aside the bodies in his way.

 

***

 

Castiel slumped in his restraints, eyes unfocused. The only thing he could make out was a white blurry outline. His head was pounding as he fought against the dark being invading his mind. Memories flashed through him, his ears rang as his grace screamed in rebellion. This was  _wrong_ , unnatural. It shouldn't be possible and at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised; only revolted. He felt his will draining away and he mourned it. Somehow, Asmodeus was using his demonic essence to integrate himself into Castiel's being. Just a sliver of corruption. It was killing him, he could feel it. He wanted to throw up, his insides felt mangled, impure, and not because of his own actions. He carried plenty of guilt already but this was something else, something worse. His grace tried to force it out of him but it slipped and wriggled like a black worm, sliding through the tiniest of gaps, exploring as it wished, teasing out his memories, his sensations, his very  _self_. Castiel convulsed as his grace surged inside his vessel, searching, trying to expel the Prince of Hell.

Asmodeus himself stood in front of him, saying words that he couldn't hear, not when he could feel that sliver in his aorta, crawling its way into his heart. It wouldn't stay there of course, only extract what it needed and then move on, his grace circled it and attacked. Castiel cried out at the sensation of his grace colliding with itself in force. His grace tore at the meat of his vessel to get to the invader, only to find it had once again slipped away. His grace healed the wounds of course, but only so much as was necessary, it was too distracted to heal him completely. His only hope was to wrest the creature from him before it could consume too much, before it took everything that made him Castiel and made it its own, twisting him into something unrecognisable.

"You have no need to fight me, Castiel. You know you can't win. I'll get what I want from you, you'd be better off to just let it happen."

Castiel shook himself, and used what remained of his defiance to struggle pitifully against the warded chains. Asmodeus chuckled, the sliver of his… anti-grace still worming its way through Castiel. It was both inside his vessel and his grace, wherever it went it left a trail that burned like acid. Suddenly, it paused in its journey, circling a particular spot in his grace. A spot that Castiel had been trying particularly hard to protect. He let out a low moan of failure that was half physical pain.

"Oh, now  _that_ is interesting. I can definitely make use of this." Asmodeus said, voice amused.

The piece of Asmodeus burrowed deeper and his grace recoiled from the thing, leaving him exhausted and confused. He could  _feel_  that sliver prodding around inside of him, where all of his carefully constructed guards meant nothing. Where nothing meant anything, it was all just pain and sickness and filth and he was drowning in it. He felt so heavy and so empty, like he was stuffed with cotton, eyes replaced with glass, a mere imitation of himself. The thing inside him twisted and he cried out, until a calloused palm rested against his cheek.

"Hey, Cas, it's okay, I'm here."

Dean stood there, eyes calm, meeting his. His hair in tousled spikes, his smile small but reassuring.

"Dean?" His voice was raspy, and his throat felt like he was rubbing sandpaper together.

"Shhh, it's okay, don't try to talk. It'll be over in a minute, okay? Just let it happen and it'll be quick, I promise."

Cas tried to nod, but he lacked the energy. Then he frowned as his brain slowly clicked onwards.

"You're not Dean," he said confidently, it was about the only thing he  _was_  confident of at the moment. He shook his head, trying to shake off the hand that felt so familiar but so wrong. "Don't touch me."

"Cas, buddy, what are you talking about?"

"Get out of my head."

"Cas,"

"Don't call me that!" His grace flared, and stuttered, that brief moment bringing clarity, allowing his grace to snap back to the search with renewed vigour, pulsing in fluid waves, seeking out the abomination inside him.

Pain slammed into him, longing, defeat. but it wasn't  _his_ , it was different, human.

"Dean," he whimpered, his head falling back with a pained groan as he felt the sliver of  _wrongness_  continue to burrow and twist. His shaking hands clenched into fists. He could  _feel_ him, the rage of a fight ebbing from him, his physical pain was significant, he was badly hurt, but that wasn't what frightened Castiel to his core. Dean was exhausted and he no longer struggled against what held him, casting his thoughts away from himself instead. The longing intensified to the point of pain and Castiel gasped with the force of it.

 _Goodbye Cas,_ he heard the words as clearly as if Asmodeus had spoken them with Dean's lips, although his mouth hadn't moved.  _Get Sammy home_.

Castiel was lucid enough to know what Dean meant by that goodbye. He couldn't let that happen. Fear and rage spiked inside of him.

"NO!" He yelled. Mustering the last of his strength he  _pushed_  with his grace, out of his vessel, across whatever connection bound them together, towards Dean.

He collapsed, drained; held up only by the chains. His grace hadn't left his vessel, it wouldn't have been able to with the warding. But he had sent the remainder of his power. He hoped it would be enough, he hoped it would do  _something_. He still felt the abomination inside him, now free to explore without hindrance. His grace could only rest. It would take time before he had the strength to resist again. He cried out as the sliver of Asmodeus moved through his grace, inspecting, learning,  _taking_  and he sank still further in his bonds. Consumed by fear for Dean, worry for whatever Asmodeus was planning. Hating the Prince of Hell who stood there, his own scarred face returned, for invading him so completely, leaving him stripped bare, his defences shattered.

 _Was that you?_  The soft voice spoke into his head and Castiel almost sobbed with relief, completely overwhelmed.  _Thanks Cas, you really saved my skin. Whatever you did, I owe you a beer for it._  The longing slowly faded as Dean moved away from whatever it was over there that seemed to strengthen their connection. Cas almost cried out for him to come back, but he knew all he would get would be a false Dean with cold eyes, devoid of the intensity, pain and anger that the real Dean carried with him.

Castiel hung onto the thought that Dean was okay while the sliver of Asmodeus settled itself, deep within his grace and bit painfully, latching itself firmly, even as his grace flinched, he didn't have the energy to try and shake it off. Besides, he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

"Come now, that wasn't so bad." Asmodeus said smoothly as he snapped his fingers. The chains holding Castiel retracted suddenly, leaving him to fall to the floor. His arms barely made it out in front of him as he slammed painfully into stone. The Prince of Hell bent his knees to squat in front of him and it was all he could do to raise his head and glare, "you're going to be very helpful, Castiel. I thank you. Now, I'm sure your grace is going to feel… Different. But you'll get used to it." Asmodeus stood and looked down at him dispassionately. Castiel tried to hide the way his arms were shaking. He said nothing; it felt as though Asmodeus had chewed holes in his grace. His memories were still present, but they were duller somehow where the thing had been, like an old polaroid bleached by the sun, and they brought with them a feeling of revulsion so strong that he almost curled into a ball on the cold stone floor. He was tainted. The abomination was still inside his grace, which twitched feebly in protest at the feeling.

Two pairs of arms grabbed him and hauled him up, dragging him away. He vaguely heard Lucifer's voice, demanding and petulant. He felt cold stone as he was thrown back into his cell and he saw the fading glow of the wards, sealing the door shut behind him. He didn't know how long he lay there, exhausted in every sense of the word. At some point, everything darkened and he let it happen, fading slowly into unconsciousness.

 

***

 

He awoke to the sound of Lucifer calling his name over and over in various intonations and tones. He didn't sound concerned, merely bored, as though he'd been at it for hours.

"Oh shut  _up._ " Castiel groaned.

"He lives! Great. I wasn't sure." Lucifer said, "what did he do to you? Must have taken a lot of whammy to knock you out like that. You didn't even  _hear_  my rendition of  _The Lion King_."

"Thank goodness for that."

"Hey! I make a great Mufasa."

"Are you sure you're not the one whose name translates to  _garbage_?"

"He changed it to Scar, and no,  _that_  would be Ass-modeus, for obvious reasons."

"You've used that one before," Cas sniped. His head was pounding and he felt sickened, as though he had gorged on rancid meat.

"There's only so much I can do with a name like that," Lucifer said. "Hey, guess which ones the Winchesters are, guess!"

"I'm not guessing."

"Sam's the meerkat and Dean's the warthog, duh. And you're like… Zazu or something."

"I'm  _not_  your advisor. How long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to start comparing everyone we know to characters in  _The Lion King_ , keep up." Lucifer drawled. "Jack would be Simba of course, the chosen one who comes to oust the usurper and avenge his dear old dad."

"Which means you have to be dead. I like this plan. Can I help?"

"Rude."

Castiel felt his body heaving, it was almost human, except it was his grace that seemed to be trying to reject something from inside itself.

"I almost wish I could throw up," he said, slowly pushing himself to his knees, seeking the distraction of conversation, no matter how irritating that conversation promised to be.

"I'm glad you can't." Lucifer returned. "You know they don't clean these cells, right? And I might revel in darkness, yada, yada, but no one  _likes_  the smell of vomit. Especially after a few days when it starts to-"

"Enough!" Castiel's body heaved again. Lucifer chuckled.

"So, what did he do? More importantly, what did you tell him?"

"I didn't  _tell_  him anything. I don't know what he knows now. He used a… piece of himself and he attached it to my grace somehow." Cas shuddered at the thought. His skin felt clammy and damp, which was unusual, as temperature didn't affect him.

"Ooooh, that old thing," Lucifer said, sounding excited, "it's nasty, right? I was really proud of that one. Do you know how  _useless_  most demons are against angels? With the stabbing and the smiting and the built-in wards. They can't read your mind, they can't possess you, it's boring."

"And you just wanted to what? Even the odds?" Castiel growled.

"Hell no, I wanted to make something that could obliterate you all."

"And that didn't strike you as tempting fate?"

"Nah, I could take him down if I needed to."

"You should get on that."

Lucifer ignored the jibe.

"So chances are, he now knows basically everything about you and the Winchesters. That trick he used? He now has full access to your grace, and the memories that come with them. It goes well with his shapeshifting, don'tcha think? I really outdid myself with that one."

"You called him the runt."

"You think I'm stupid enough to encourage him? Dad made that mistake with me, I wasn't gonna make the same one. It's practically an invite for rebellion."

"But you could 'take him down.'?" Castiel smirked as he levered himself slowly onto the bench. The movement disagreed with him but he refused to stay on all fours like a dog if Asmodeus decided to make another appearance. "You were scared you made him too powerful."

"Not  _scared,_ " Lucifer spat, "do you think I'd make something that I couldn't destroy? No, I was… concerned. I didn't want him getting a big head and filling it with ideas like taking over… or releasing the Shedim."

"So what does that mean for me?" Castiel asked, hating the question, hating the implication of vulnerability. "If he's in my grace. Is it permanent? Am I…?" He couldn't finish, he wasn't sure how to. Tainted? Dangerous? Sick?"

"Well, it's not a great prognosis, true." Lucifer said mildly, "It means you can't be trusted anymore. You're an unwitting spy now, Asmodeus can activate his little sprog at any time and access your current and past experiences, everything you've ever seen or thought or understood belongs to him now. He can tell when your emotions change, when you're focusing on something, all that jazz. He can also kill you with it at any point so… Yeah. Pretty cool, right?"

Castiel said nothing. Still trying to process the information.

"Okay, maybe not from  _your_  perspective."

"So… he knows everything I know? About Jack? About the Winchesters?  _Everything?"_

"Well, I doubt he cares that much about the Winchesters. He's probably not gonna bother looking too deep into them, I mean, they're not exactly important, they're just your favourite distraction. It's Jack he wants. So yeah, he's probably already got all that stuff. He knows as much as you do about where Jack is."

Castiel stared directly ahead. He could still feel the wrongness inside his grace, buried deep. Inescapable, invasive. Even if he got out of here, he was useless. Worse than useless, he was a liability.

"But if I'm in  _here_ ," he said slowly, "then I can't be of any use. It's not like I'm privy to any secret plans to find Jack while I'm locked up in Hell."

"Aside from ours of course," Lucifer hummed, "true. But you heard what he said about 'being prepared' -  _another_  reason why he's Scar by the way - he knows the Winchesters can be… problematic. My guess is, he expects them to bust you out. Now, even if they do, it won't exactly help them in the long run."

"So, to summarise." Castiel said darkly, "I'm screwed."

"Basically."

"Great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? 
> 
> Lucifer was really fun to write xD
> 
> I have a very basic outline of what I want to happen over the course of this fic but as usual I'm expecting it to go a bit off the rails.
> 
> With the whole Asmodeus' sliver of himself thing, I really felt like he needed to up his game. He's the last Prince of Hell and he needs some new power that we haven't seen a million times before. I hope this works.
> 
> All feedback is loved and honoured and cherished although I cannot promise it will be obeyed. ;)
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So here's the next chapter!
> 
> Happy New Year! May all those WIPs you're waiting on be updated soon!
> 
> This fic is now officially longer than my Masters dissertation. Oops? It's really weird, especially as this one is getting hardly any traffic compared to some of my other fics.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy ^_^

 

Castiel spent the next several days at war with the part of Asmodeus inside his grace. Once he had gained enough strength to rebel against it, he did so, despite Lucifer's assurances that it wouldn't work. At the very least it was a distraction, something to wile away the time while he sat on a stone bench, listening to Lucifer prattle on about trivial matters. The war made him feel as though he was trying, in some small way, to help himself. Asmodeus didn't come to warn him  _against_  fighting, which was all the more frustrating as it meant that he didn't think his efforts were worth discouragement, considering how ineffective they were. After almost a week of constant struggle, Castiel allowed his grace to falter. The feeling of Asmodeus was unpleasant; he found it difficult to sit still without squirming, like there was a hair down the back of his shirt that kept tickling between his shoulder blades, no matter how many times he shook the material out. He didn't know whether it was a good sign that it was no longer actively painful, but he doubted it.

 _What's taking you so long, Cas?_  The prayer filtered through his mind and he started, anxiety spiking, Asmodeus could hear this, he could be  _listening_  as Dean prayed to him. Somehow, that knowledge was worse than Asmodeus being able to see his thoughts. This was more than an invasion of privacy, it was an invasion of something  _sacred_. A human's prayers created a bond of trust between them and the angel who heard them, especially if the prayer was directed specifically to that angel,  _especially_  if that human had been claimed. It was something pure and holy and the idea of anything intruding on that connection, cheapening it, was a violation so strong that it made his anger flare to the point of activating the wards on his cell door, making them pulse and flicker, despite his distance. But the irritation he felt wasn't all his own.

Dean's longing lasted only a few more seconds before it abruptly disappeared again. He must have moved out of range. Probably for the best. Castiel was grateful that Dean hadn't decided to say anything else. Their connection was now forfeit, but how could he block it out? The words were sent directly to him, they were clearer than any outside noise could possibly be. Even Lucifer's frequent bouts of singing wouldn't be enough and at the moment, that was all he had. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. All he could do for now would be to try not to focus on any more prayers that came through. If he could just let them pass through his mind without feeling, hearing or thinking about them then Asmodeus might not notice when, or if they happened.

He got a chance to try ignoring prayers two days later.

_So, Sam has a … rocks. They seem … Krugers …. They've … closing in. They still don't … but … leave ... we're guaranteed … I dunno, man. I don't …. Something's … before it gets us killed._

Castiel let the words wash through him, hearing without listening. Trying to ignore the small burn of fear and the longing and the determination. He still got glimpses of course, but if he focused on his own guilt, on the anger of this connection being robbed from him, on his concern for the reason behind the prayer then he hoped Asmodeus couldn't hear the words any better than he could. Dean was alive and physically unharmed, that was all he truly needed to know. If that ever changed… well, then Asmodeus being able to hear his prayers would become irrelevant.

"You know, Castiel," Lucifer said, "I'm so freaking  _bored_. You'd think Asmo-douche would have found a use for us by now. It's been  _forever_."

"You'd think you'd be used to being locked in a cage by now. You've spent millennia behind bars but all you do is complain."

"Hey, I don't have a whole lotta options here, not even a deck of cards. _You're_  the only living thing around that I can actually interact with and even you're pretty useless now that we can't make any secret plans. I want something to  _do_. Even if Asmodeus lets me out, what exactly can I do to him? I can make my eyes glow, that's about it, and he knows it."

"You just answered your own question. Hell has turned on you - they keep doing that, you made demons fickle things – you have no forces to rally, no more knowledge about your son's whereabouts that he already has. You have  _nothing_  to offer him."

"Nah, I got something." Lucifer's voice was slow, calculating.

"What makes you so sure?"

"He hadn't killed me yet. Asmodeus isn't exactly the most sentimental of creatures. He has a purpose in mind for me. I just don't know what it is."

"Hmm, so he always has a plan, he's unsentimental, has ridiculous powers and his name translates to 'as God'. Freud would have had a field day with you."

"Never met him,"

"That's probably for the best."

"I know you can't see me right now, but I just want you to know that I stuck my tongue out at you."

"And now I am informed of that fact, my life has changed dramatically."

"Oooh, were you always this sassy?"

"Since coming to Earth I've gained a new appreciation for wit."

"Probably because you hang out with the witless."

"Yes, well, I don't really have much choice in the matter at the moment."

There was a short pause, then a chuckle.

"Touché."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Either way, you might be right. Asmodeus has a purpose for keeping you alive. I assume  _I'm_  just insurance if the Winchesters decide to cause trouble?"

"That's a safe bet. Sorry to tell you this, Cassie, but you're not exactly worth much when you're not a part of Team Benadryl."

Castiel's anger peaked. It was one thing for him to be rendered worthless to the Winchesters, it was quite another to be lectured on his ability to help others by  _Lucifer_. " _You're_  the one that came to  _me_ , remember?" He growled, "you didn't think I was so useless then."

"Desperate times, Castiel. You're probably the only angel alive that would have heard me out when I showed my face."

"And I wonder why that is."

"Stop getting snippy," the humour in Lucifer's tone sharpened, "We've been here for over two months now and  _nothing_  has changed. Jack's in the wind, the Winchesters aren't coming and these benches are uncomfortable. Are you denying that you'd wanna see the sky again?"

Castiel said nothing. He remembered the feeling of returning from the Empty. After so much darkness; the warmth of the sun, the vibrancy of the earth, its textures and scents had been almost overwhelmingly beautiful. Yes. He would like to see the sky again. Lucifer made an annoying, self-satisfied sound.

"I won't go along with whatever Asmodeus wants. I will protect Jack from him, no matter the cost."

"All well and good when you don't know what the cost is." Lucifer said slyly, "chances are, Jack is going to resurface soon and Asmodeus will find him. So the only way to keep an eye on him is to be here when that happens."

"Unfortunately, my vision is impaired by these bars," Castiel snapped.

"Well, I didn't mean  _here_  here." Lucifer said, "duh, just go along with what Asmodeus wants until you can rally that rebellious spirit of yours or whatever. It's what I'm gonna do."

"Great, well telling me that plan was smart. Or did you forget, he's probably listening right now?"

"Ahh," Lucifer said softly, his voice low and dangerous, "see, that's the thing. It makes no difference. He has a plan for each of us, sure. But us staying locked up clearly isn't helping him any. He's got that thing in your grace that can kill you no matter how far you run, and can see each move you make the second you decide to make it and  _I've_  got less power than a  _cherub_  so what threat am I? I'm offering him a challenge. He's pretty certain he can take us. I'm willing to bet that he can't. We have no secret weapons or some airtight plan; we've only got ourselves, but we've both been in some pretty sticky situations before and come out at least mostly intact. What exactly do we have to lose?"

Castiel frowned, considering. Had he been here too long or was Lucifer actually making  _sense_? All they really needed was a little freedom, a chance.

Well, the offer had been posed. All they could do now was wait.

 

_***_

 

They had discovered, in a moment of 'what the hell', that the Krugers were terrified of the rocks. Dean had thrown a fist sized rock at one who had been about to slash Sam's neck and the thing had shrieked, scrambling backwards to get away from it, bringing one of its hands up to its face to tap the middle claw twice to each temple before skittering back into the trees. Sam had looked around at him, confused at the reaction. Dean had shrugged, just as shocked that that had actually worked. Sam had picked up the rock and taken it back to camp, forgetting about the water run. When Dean got back with their crude bucket (a tree stump they had dug up, hollowed out and strengthened with the clay like sand at the edge of the river, using some strong vines as handles) brimming with water, Dean could actually see the gears grinding in Sammy's head.

"I think these things are like… religious to the Krugers," he said barely glancing around at him, flipping the rock over in his hand as Dean flopped down with a grunt, that bucket was  _heavy_  when it was full. "Maybe that's why they avoid this place, it's sacred to them."

"I dunno, Sammy, they seem to be getting ready to spring a trap."

Sam looked up at that, frowning, "what do you mean?"

"You haven't noticed how we now run into at least  _one_ Kruger every single time we leave the camp? They know exactly where we're hiding out and we've been here too long. We've worn out our welcome, Sam, they're gonna send in the repo men."

Sam shifted uneasily.

"You think they're that organised?"

"Well, they're at least kinda psychic, they hang out in packs and they're scary good at fighting as a team. Yeah, I think they've got some game."

"Good point." Sam conceded, "so what do we do?"

"I think we should leave. We've gotten too comfortable here, I told you that that was dangerous."

"We can't just  _leave_. We need to figure out these rocks!"

"Sam, come on! We've been here for over a week. They don't  _do_  anything. They're just there, and they connect things or whatever. What does it matter?"

"Look," Sam said, "we both know, that this might be our only way to save Mom."

"Sammy, it's been two months. Whatever  _was_  happening with Mom? It's over. Either Jack got her out, or she's dead. There is no third option."

Dean watched his brother's jaw clench in anger and pain. He felt it himself, that sharp pang of loss, of uncertainty. He wanted to go to his brother, comfort him, but he had no comfort to give. He could feel the edges of that black cloud in his mind, the one that had taken him over completely after that night at the cabin. He pushed it back.

"And you're okay with that?" Sam sounded betrayed.

"No, I'm not okay with it. But being not okay with it doesn't fix it. Look, she's a Winchester. Chances are, she's fine and back on Earth kicking ass and taking names. All I'm saying is that Jack has had plenty of time to find her and bring her home."

"If that's true, why hasn't he come for us?"

Dean shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe Kaia took off, or maybe it was a one-time deal, we still don't know how his powers work."

"All the more reason that we stay  _here_. Where we can figure out how to get back on our own."

"And how's that coming?" Dean asked, Sam glared at him. "These rocks are scattered all over the place, Sam. Maybe there's another bunch like this. All I know is, it's getting to be too dangerous to hang around here any longer. The Krugers are closing in, Sam. They're less scared of this place than they used to be. Either that, or the fact that we're here is bugging them way more than whatever it is that gives them the spooks."

"Dean-"

"I mean it, Sam. Something's gonna happen here, soon. And I'm pretty sure I don't wanna be around when it-"

"Dean!"

Dean stopped at Sam's tone. His brother's gaze had dropped to his jeans, eyes widening. Dean glanced down, mildly concerned, and then cried out in shock.

"What the-?"

A burning light blazed from his pocket, so bright it shone  _through_  the denim. Gingerly, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the small stone. It wasn't warm to the touch or anything but it kind of… vibrated in his hand. He almost dropped it. Sam walked over to him, eyes glued to the glowing stone. After a small nod from Dean to indicate that it was safe, he plucked it from Dean's palm. Sam squinted at it, the light was bright but not blinding. It was a fierce, orange colour, bathing Sam's face in a sunset glow as he stared directly into the stone, enraptured.

"Sammy?"

"I can hear something, Dean," he breathed, "There's something  _in_  there."

"In there?" Dean frowned at the pebble, "Sam, I've had zits bigger than that thing, nothing's in there."

"No, it's not someone. But it's like…  _everyone_. Dean, I think this is the connection! The thing that binds Krugers together, that helps our prayers get through."

"That  _one_  tiny stone? Come on, man, what are the chan-"

They both spun around as a rumble sounded from behind them, close and menacing. Dean felt the ground tremble beneath his feet, and a supernova of orange light hit them like a blast, Dean raised an arm to shield his eyes and reached out his other hand to grab Sam's jacket; if they were about to get zapped somewhere, he would  _not_  let them be separated in this place. But the light merely washed over them and the rumble became a deafening crack that seemed to split the air. Dean's hands flew to cover his ears and yelled, he saw Sam do the same, dropping the pebble. A sound filled Dean's head and he fell to his knees, it was like when Cas had tried to talk to him using his true voice, an unending, high pitched shriek, piercing and painful and all-encompassing, this sound was slightly different, it was more visceral, it had the ebb and flow of a conversation, different voices, tones and volumes all mixed together in a ball of sound. He felt like his eardrums were going to explode. Next to him, Sam's mouth was open in a yell that he couldn't hear. He looked back towards the centre of the light where dark silhouettes had begun to move.

Dean started, grabbing his brother's arm and yanking him roughly to his feet, pointing as Krugers emerged from the light, dozens of them. Pebbles spilled over the ground, some of them were glowing with the same orange light, although most were dun. The light formed around those that were glowing, formed into a humanoid shape and solidified, creating features, bodies, Krugers. Dean stared in horror. Sam had the presence of mind to kick away the glowing stone by his feet before they started backing away, unable to tear their eyes away from what they were seeing.

The stone skittered a few feet and thunked into a tree. A new Kruger formed from it after a few moments, it stood, shaking itself. Dean gaped, that was the same Kruger he had injured, the same one he had stabbed in the chest. It had the same strange pattern of skin on its left shoulder. Dean stumbled back a few paces. The Kruger met his eyes and smiled, it was a feral smile, its heavy, jutting jaw wasn't suited to smiles of actual joy. More of the new Krugers were turning to face the intruders, some of them tense, other's seeming more curious. Some of the Krugers were gathering up the non-glowing pebbles and scooping them back into the larger, cracked rocks. Dean exchanged a quick glance with his brother, then they turned tail and ran.

They had been running for about half an hour before Dean called them to a halt. He didn't think the Krugers were following, hopefully they'd be too distracted by their rock people. He doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side.

"What the actual hell just happened?" He gasped, "one of those new Krugers was one I  _killed_  Sam! The one that got away from that fight a while back with the busted leg."

Sam was breathing heavily too, his eyes were wide with wonder, he stared back through the trees, towards the light show they'd left behind.

"I think those stones are like Kruger souls or something. And they keep them outside of themselves so they can regenerate... maybe?"

He sounded excited at the discovery, far too excited for Dean's taste.

"What, so Krugers are Time Lords? Or Horcruxes?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him,

"Shut up, I had to listen to you prattle on about Harry Potter all the damn time,  _some_  of it stuck."

"Whatever, man. Yeah, either,  _both_. I dunno, but it explains why it strengthens telepathic links. Krugers are telepaths, right? And the pebbles are like… raw Kruger, full of pure psychic energy, not contained by a body or thought processes, it just  _connects_. That place was like a Kruger graveyard."

"Yeah, or a maternity ward," Dean said. "But if the Krugers take their dead there, how come we haven't seen them? We've been on  _constant_  watch, how do we not notice those things carrying a bunch of pebbles or bodies or whatever? And why did they break now?"

"I dunno. An annual thing maybe? Something to do with the moon cycle, like turtles." Sam shrugged, looking just as baffled as he felt. Dean's brain felt like a wrung sponge.

"You know, I think I recognised a couple of the new Krugers too. You saw how many pebbles were in those things but they weren't  _all_  glowing, right? There's no way they could have opened up the rocks to put the pebbles in without us spotting them. So the pebbles were already in there."

"Which means what?" Dean couldn't really bring himself to care. He was more concerned about the fact that Kruger numbers had just increased a buttload, and now, it was personal, at least for a few of them.

"Krugers are built on connections, right? Maybe every Kruger that has ever been or  _will_  ever be already has a pebble in one of those rocks. And maybe if too many have died of... well,  _us;_  instead of making new Krugers they just… call 'em back?"

"Sammy, that's…" he trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

"I know," Sam said, "but I mean, I'm not exactly an expert here, I'm just guessing. It's the only kind of sense I can make out of this."

"That's  _sense_?" There wasn't any bite to Dean's words, he was too baffled.

Sam huffed a laugh. "In this place? Sure," he paused then, biting his lip, "so, what do we do now? If the rocks  _are_  purely telepathic then all that means is we can pray to people back home. Unless they come and get us, that's not a way out."

Dean sighed, looking at his brother's face. His expression was tight, forced control, but there was a deep sorrow in his eyes, of a hope dashed. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said.

Sam's lips flicked briefly into a small smile, "yeah," he said, "me too."

Dean patted the shoulder twice before withdrawing.

"I think we should keep moving. We know more about the rocks and Krugers than we did a day ago, so that's something, right? I bet this place is full of more mysteries." Dean said that mainly to cheer his brother up. He wasn't sure he actually believed it. Was this place full of weirdness? Sure, and Sam would probably be able to keep himself sane trying to figure some of it out. But did he believe there was an actual way to get out of here without Jack's portal making skills? No, he didn't.

Sam squared his shoulders and nodded, "okay, we start over, look for something else. Maybe if we find something with a more physical connection, we can combine the two."

"That's my boy."

 

_***_

 

Asmodeus came to them within the hour.

"I heard your offer," he began, facing Lucifer's cell, "but perhaps you can both clarify some things for me. What  _exactly_ do I get out of it? Having Castiel on hand is the perfect leverage against Jack should he resurface and  _you_. What use are  _you_ , Lucifer? I have the power, I have the army of demons to do my will, I have search parties out looking for your son, who, from what I gather, has no attachment to you beyond his genetic make-up. How are you planning to serve me?"

" _Temporarily_  serve," Lucifer drawled, "right up to the point I wipe you from existence."

"Right." Asmodeus said, amused.

"You have the power and all," Lucifer admitted, "but  _I_  have the face. You're the new kid on the block around here, Mo-mo.  _My_  reputation spans millennia. I know exactly what strings to tug to get things done. People know what to expect from me. They  _know_  to fear me."

"I'm doing perfectly well by myself, thank you." Asmodeus returned. "Your reputation has taken a hit, I'm afraid. You've been defeated too many times by the same two humans and their pet." He nodded towards Castiel, whose fists clenched, "and now your powers are barely a fraction of what they were. Your  _reputation_  means nothing."

"Tell me honestly that you know there aren't any loyalists among your cronies." Lucifer said, a dangerous note in his voice. "Even one demon can cause a lot of chaos if left unchecked, Asmodeus, and most demons side with the strongest leader. Hell has a long memory, boy. I was busy ruling while  _you_  were off practising embroidery. This place is mine, it will  _always_  be mine. It doesn't matter who sits in that stupid chair."

"Hmmm," Asmodeus said, sounding unconvinced, though something flickered in those dead eyes.

"So, if we give them a united front, if I publicly support you - because, let's face it, I want to find my kid too – you truly  _will_  have the whole of Hell behind you. Until I don't need you anymore, of course."

Asmodeus' mouth twitched, "of course." The door to Lucifer's cell swung open with a quiet groan. Asmodeus nodded to Castiel, "and  _him_?"

"I will not help you," Castiel snapped. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow,

Lucifer stepped out of his cage, stretching his arms. He glanced over at Castiel, nonchalantly.

"What difference does it make if he's in here or out there? You can kill him with that sliver no matter where he goes, he's leverage either way, and no threat," he said with a wink at the angel. Castiel growled.

"Besides, whether he wants to help or not, if my son comes out of hiding, he'll run straight for Castiel, it's easier if he can find him. And  _if_  the Winchesters return," he grinned at the expression of pure loathing on Castiel's face, "He'll know immediately. Then you can keep a eye on them. Or just kill them, you know, whichever you prefer."

The warding on his own cell door glowed for a moment and then melted away. The door clicked open and Asmodeus reached in to press his hand to his arm.

Suddenly, Castiel was in the middle of a road. He jumped out of the way of a car just in time, horn blaring. He couldn't bring himself to enjoy his new-found freedom like he had after returning from the Empty. His grace wasn't just weak, it was tainted. He desperately wanted to find Jack and the Winchesters but if he did, he would lead Asmodeus straight to them.

"Dammit." He muttered to himself. His frustration and worry for his family building, he kicked a rock which cracked in two. He didn't feel any better. "Dammit!"

 

***

 

Hours later, he found himself back at the door of the bunker. He couldn't bring himself to go in. If Jack and Mary were in there, he would only put them in danger by finding them. If they weren't, then they could be in danger  _anyway_  and Castiel wouldn't be able to help them without drawing Asmodeus' attention. His insides were tearing at each other. He needed to  _know_  but he also needed to  _protect_. Two parts of himself at war. Only one thing was certain. The Winchesters were not in there. He hadn't heard from them since Dean's last prayer, although he had  _felt_  enough to be deeply concerned. A brief spike of sensation, a screaming conversation he hadn't understood, the usual longing overpowered by confusion and fear. Then… nothing. He wasn't sure he had done a very good job of ignoring that outburst. Indeed, he had been restless and on edge since. Standing in front of the bunker door didn't help. He could ruin everything by entering, but this was his  _home_. He didn't have anywhere else to go. Besides, Asmodeus probably already knew where the bunker was and he wouldn't be able to get in. This place was warded against every known thing, not even Lucifer at his full power could get in here.

Steeling himself, Castiel reached forward and pulled open the door. The room beyond was dark, lights began to flicker to life. Castiel took a deep breath and made to step over the threshold. He stopped halfway. Confused, he looked around, trying to place his foot on the welcome mat Sam had picked up from the thrift store. But it wouldn't go beyond the doorframe. He felt his grace straining backwards in his body,  _pulled_  backwards, by that spot of corruption inside of him. Castiel fell backwards, landing on his backside. Staring into the bunker that now rejected his entry. It was like a final betrayal, excluding him from his home.

Castiel shook himself quickly. He  _wouldn't_  wallow. He wouldn't give Asmodeus the satisfaction of knowing the blow that this had truly dealt him. He pushed himself to his feet, the door was still open. He craned his neck, looking for movement inside, he saw none, just a few blinking lights. That familiar smell wafted out to him. It smelled of the crackle of magic and ancient power, of all the people who had ever passed through here, looking for shelter or protection. It smelled faintly of Jack, more strongly of Sam and Dean, trudging home after a hunt, covered in mud, blood and gunpowder. It smelled of holy water, of iron and salt and beer and it all smelled so  _good_. Pushing his nostalgia aside he peered into the war room.

"Hello?" he called, "Jack? It's Castiel. I… I can't come in. Asmodeus, he… well, it's not exactly safe. You shouldn't come out, you shouldn't let me know if you're here. I just need to know if you are. I  _need_  to know you're alright. But as soon as  _I_ know, so will he so… Do with that information what you will." He paused and sat down again, just outside the door.

"If you are in there. I want you to know that I'm sorry. I should have been around to protect you like I promised and I wasn't. I'm so proud of you, Jack. I met you for one week and I've already seen you grow. I know what you did, going after Mary. That was very brave of you. More than brave, it was incredibly kind. You saw how much Sam and Dean missed their mother and you wanted to help. Sometimes, kindness is the only thing that matters in this world."

The sound of wary footsteps came from below. Castiel looked up but he couldn't see who it was. The footsteps made their way up the stairs, a blonde head emerged, a blade in her hand.

"Hello, Castiel."

"Mary." Castiel scrambled to stand once more. "You're alive!"

She looked mostly unharmed although she had bruises slowly fading on her face and her movements were stiff. Her eyes were controlled, calculating the risk.

"I am."

"Jack?" Castiel asked frantically, "is he alright?"

"He's fine," Mary said, "but he's not here."

Castiel nodded, sighing with relief. He didn't look to see if she was lying or not. It was best he remain uncertain. Jack is alive and unhurt. That is all that truly mattered. "I can't come in," he said.

"I heard." Mary replied, her mouth in a grim line. "You need to explain yourself. Where are my sons? Where have  _you_  been? Why weren't you with them when they got transported to this Bad Place?" Her eyes flashed with anger, he couldn't blame her."

"Asmodeus captured me months ago. Only a few days after Jack left us. Lucifer found me and Asmodeus found him."

Mary's jaw tightened, it was a gesture that reminded him so strongly of Dean that he almost smiled.

"Lucifer's back here?"

Castiel nodded.

"We were both prisoners in Hell until a few hours ago. His powers are mostly drained; Michael's doing, he said. He plans to help unify Hell under Asmodeus' rule until he gets the opportunity to destroy him," he rolled his eyes, "he was  _very_  clear on that point."

Mary raised her eyebrows briefly like she was unsurprised.

"And you? Why did he let you out?"

"Everything that you tell me is forfeit, Mary. Asmodeus implanted a piece of himself in my grace and he can use that to see, hear and understand  _everything_  that I see, hear and understand. He can look through all of my memories, there are no codes that I know that he cannot, you  _cannot_  tell me anything about where Jack is, you can't even hint. He can use this thing to kill me at any moment and he wanted to use that as leverage to get Jack to help him. He knows you're here now, so here's what I need you to do. Send Jack to someone you trust, I cannot know who. Tell that person to send Jack to someone that  _they_  trust and on and on until there is no possible way that I can know where he is."

Castiel met Mary's eyes for a few moments, they were hard, stubborn, wary, but she nodded to indicate that she understood.

"Give me a moment," she said, Castiel stepped back and Mary pulled the door securely closed, blocking out all sound from inside, even to his hearing. He waited patiently. After about half an hour she returned.

"How long have you been back?" Castiel asked her, as she handed him a beer through the doorway, indicating the task was done.

"A while. Once Jack arrived, it only took a couple of hours to escape," she pulled the cap off her own beer and tossed it back into the bunker. It landed on the tiles below with a clatter that echoed strangely. "We've been looking for my boys. Jack needs something else to make portals and we can't find it, so it's not as easy as just opening up space, unfortunately." She took a long pull from the bottle and then winced. "If they're anywhere like where I was…" she trailed off, eyes haunted.

"If you're injured, I can heal you," Castiel offered, Mary looked over at him for a moment and then nodded, reaching her hand out to him. He touched it and sent his grace through her, healing but not invading. He didn't take stock of her injuries, he just made them disappear. The less he knew, the better. Mary pulled her hand back. Her face now clear of bruises, looking more relaxed.

"Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome."

There was silence while they drank. Castiel couldn't really taste the beer, all he ever tasted was the individual components that went into beer, but they didn't blend on his tongue the way that they should. It was like that metaphor of not being able to see the forest for the trees. He drank it anyway, his grace immediately burning away the poison.

"Dean prayed to me a while ago. He told me that the Bad Place is like Purgatory," he said eventually, his knowledge might not be comforting, but it was true, "there are creatures there, I think Dean called them Krugers. He told me to tell you that he was sorry, and that Sam never gave up on you and that they would find a way home."

Mary leaned her head back against the doorjamb, swallowing hard.

"Jack got something similar from Sam a couple of weeks back too," she said, her voice cracking, "God, I just want them home."

Castiel said nothing. He knew exactly how she felt. After a few moments Mary stood and crossed the threshold of the bunker.

"I'll drive you to the nearest motel," she said, handing him a cell phone, "here, it's got my number and my number only. If I find them, I'll call, okay?"

Castiel nodded, taking the phone from her.

"I wish I could help," he said. "I'll tell you everything I know but I can't be involved in this. If Asmodeus finds them…" he couldn't finish. Mary placed a hand on his arm.

"I know," she said gently, "don't worry. I'm not going to let that happen."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Things actually happened this chapter, that's a bonus, right?
> 
> I really am trying to get better with longer plots and pacing, I hope I'm getting at least some kind of balance.
> 
> Any feedback? All kinds are appreciated, constructive criticism makes me a better writer and positive feedback tells me what I'm doing right (as well as making me feel all warm and fuzzy).
> 
> I'll try to update soon.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Here's the next installment. It's a little shorter than the previous chapters, (please don't be mad).  
> Enjoy ^_^

Castiel filled Mary in on everything that had happened since he had left the bunker two months ago, despite the sliver coming to life and twitching uncomfortably in his grace. He ignored it. What threat would Mary Winchester be to Asmodeus? Whether she knew his plan or not. It was only after he had checked into a room, using a credit card Mary had given him, that the thing really switched on. Castiel ground his teeth together in pain. Presumably this was punishment for his little trick of getting Jack as far away from himself, and therefore Asmodeus, as possible.

The pain just made him smile grimly at the, admittedly small, victory. Breathing actual free air felt good, although it wasn't particularly refreshing in this room. He looked around, almost fondly. He had spent a lot of time in places like this with the Winchesters; the barely-clean sheets, the cheap bulbs, the stains and slight mould growth in the bathrooms, the stale smell of old sex and undisturbed dust and the slightly lost feeling of a way-stop, a place built to be homely, but only for a night or two.

He vaguely wondered how many nights Sam and Dean had stayed in places like this, how many motel rooms had been a part of the Winchester's journey towards stopping the Apocalypse, and all that had come since? How many lives had been saved from rooms just like this one across the country? How many cases solved by Sam at his laptop? Or Dean on the phone? How many lacerations had been sewn up or bones set? He sat on the bed and allowed himself to wonder these things. Asmodeus would get nothing out of his idle thoughts. He sighed and lay back, enjoying the sensation of a mattress rather than a hard, stone bench. Even the way that it dipped and bulged unpredictably wasn't unpleasant. It added a texture that had been sorely lacking in Hell. He had missed variety.

After a few moments of relishing in his new freedom, however, he stood and left the room. He thought that a walk would be pleasant. Not only would it give him the chance to stretch his legs after several long bus rides, he had been lucky that Asmodeus hadn't bothered to remove the change from his pockets before locking him away, but it would also take his mind off of all the things that he could no longer think about. He needed to keep his mind as blank as possible until… well… until he was no longer a danger to his friends. He wondered how long Asmodeus would suffer him to actively avoid any useful information; although he had never actually agreed to help and Asmodeus would certainly still be searching for ways to get to Jack that didn't involve him, to the Prince of Hell he was nothing but a tool that didn't serve its intended purpose and at any point he could decide it was no longer worth keeping him around. But for now, he was potential leverage if nothing else, particularly now that they knew Jack was safe and therefore more susceptible to such leverage.

Castiel frowned as he walked, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. A thin film of slush covered the ground from a recent snowfall. He managed not to slip on any concealed patches of ice as he walked. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost track of how long he'd been walking. The weak winter sun had long since vanished but that could mean any time after two pm. He decided not to try and figure it out. If he just kept walking, he could pick out the shading of a swing-set in someone's front garden, or the delicate grain of a flower petal. If he could focus on these things then he couldn't harm Jack and Mary's mission. If he just kept walking, relishing in the beauty around him, the natural and the human crafted. He passed a few people, also huddled into their coats, heads down to avoid the chill wind. It looked like it would be a cold night. While Castiel  _felt_  the cold in an abstract kind of way, he didn't experience it the way a human would. His sympathy came more from the memory of the sensation rather than anything he felt now. He hoped that each person trudging past had a warm place to stay tonight. He smiled as the muffled beat from too-loud headphones slipped by from under a teenager's hoodie. He had missed being able to observe humanity like this. Although he missed being a part of it even more. Not physiologically, of course, being an angel was far more useful, despite his impeded powers, and far less confusing than being a human, with all of their complex systems and physical needs and frailties; but he missed being a part of his family. The last time he had felt that connection had been in Dodge city, still exalted from his return from the Empty, getting to know Jack and seeing Dean more excited than he had been in a long time.

Castiel shook himself and returned to studying patterns in the cracked pavement stones instead. He needed to stay occupied. He couldn't think of those he was sworn to protect. The more he focused on them, the more Asmodeus would pry, assuming he didn't already know everything. Everything new he considered or discovered was another dangerous piece of information that Asmodeus could use against him. If he had been able to enter, he would have asked Mary to lock him up in the bunker. It was perhaps strange to want to swap one dungeon for another but he trusted Mary; sometimes, trust made all the difference. He kicked a loose stone and wondered how long he could kick it for until it left the path. Quite a while apparently, when he looked up again, he was hours away from the motel. It was definitely a good thing that he didn't get fatigued. He smiled mildly and turned, realising that there were now more people on the street than there had been, clutching to-go cups of coffee, wrapped up in scarves, walking miserably to their place of occupation. Morning had come and he hadn't even realised.

He began the long trek back, trying to memorise the face of each person he passed; the two fathers with their young children, one bemoaning the fact that his wife had taken his car to work when hers wouldn't start. The other, regretting his decision to insist to his husband that they cut down their carbon footprint. Apparently, this chore was revenge for 'the blender thing'. Castiel was curious to learn what that was exactly but thought that it would be rude to pry. Instead, he watched as one of the little girls let go of her father's hand to swap one dinosaur glove for one of the Power Rangers ones her friend wore. The fathers raised their eyebrows indulgently at their children's antics and kept walking. Castiel turned away from them to instead focus on a young woman in a red, knitted bobble hat waiting at a bus stop, who was muttering a string of expletives down her phone at a co-worker who had apparently called to tell her that they wouldn't be able to make it in today.

"I don't care if you've got the sniffles, Jamie,  _you're_  the one with the bloody presentation! This is why I wanted to make a copy. Katherine's going to have my ass if I show up with nothing… Just down a Lemsip and get out of bed! Look, if you feel that bad, just come in for a couple of hours, or, hell, just meet me somewhere within the next twenty minutes and give me the damn folder. Next time, we're going digital, I swear to God. I'm done with this 'old school' crap Daniel keeps harping on about."

Intrigued, and hoping that the woman manages to get her presentation, Castiel tunes in to other conversations around him, he's on the edge of a main street where the press of people is becoming thicker; shop owners opening up, people rushing into coffee shops, desperate for a quick breakfast and a caffeine fix. Car horns beeping impatiently at a junction where a flustered teenager has managed to stall. People in business suits and sweatpants alike all smashed together in the same few feet of space between building and road, crossing paths with so many interesting and exciting stories if they would just stop to listen, which Castiel does. He waits patiently in line at a Starbucks and then finds a bench to stop and drink his small coffee. The warmth is pleasant, even though the taste is not. A shame, he remembered enjoying, or at least  _craving_  coffee. He had given himself a dependence on the stuff, watching as the Winchesters ingested it by the gallon and wanting to understand why.

No, far more interesting was that man with dark circles under his eyes, his suit was rumpled and his tie, loose around his neck, had too-tight a knot in it. His skin was pale in the grey dawn, shiny with a slight sheen of sweat, and he flinched at loud noises. He recognised the look. This man was hungover. He had seen this same look on Dean many a time, although this man looked far more pained than Dean ever did, perhaps due to lack of experience, although this man had to be older than Dean by at least fifteen years. That thought made him sad, as did the fact that unless Castiel was paying particular attention, Castiel often missed the outward effects of Dean being hungover. Unless of course he was deliberately hamming up the effect to amuse Sam, although usually he only did that when his drinking was more celebratory than-

No. He needed to stop this. He stood up and began walking again, giving his mostly full and still steaming coffee to a homeless woman, who sniffed at it suspiciously and waited for him to keep walking before taking a sip. The morning commute seemed to have thinned slightly in the time he had been musing. He needed a more permanent distraction than snatches of conversation and observations that he could always link back to the Winchesters. The only way he knew how to keep his thoughts from straying was to have something important to focus on, unfortunately, the only things that he would  _wish_  to dedicate his focus to were precisely the things that he needed to avoid. An Alsatian dog almost pulled its owner over in its eagerness to get to a man across the street who was holding a bacon sandwich. Castiel watched as the owner quickly restored order, tugging the dog back, bribing it with a hastily extracted treat.

Castiel allowed himself to be lost in the rhythm of human life. Observing only, no thinking necessary. After all, that  _was_ the point.

 

***

 

Dean yanked Sam back by the collar as a colossal roar shook the trees around them. The three Krugers lurking at the edges of their vision vanished and birds rose, squawking, into the air. Dean slammed his own back to the thick trunk of a tree and waited for the deafening footsteps to pass. He clapped a hand to his mouth, hoping to hide the small plume of breath. Next to him, Sam did the same. It had been getting steadily colder here over the past few days, particularly at night, which it was. They had only been stopping so one of them could get some sleep; snacking on jerky on the go and moving as much as possible to keep the chill at bay. In their thin flannels and ripped t shirts and jeans, they didn't have much protection from the elements and Sam had taken to heating water on a small fire while Dean slept so they could have a hot drink every so often. Dean admitted that it wasn't as gross as the herbal tea Sam normally had, which made Sam roll his eyes.

The hot breath against his own hand stilled as the huge creature's footsteps stopped, not ten feet away. He could feel Sam shaking, neither of them moved. Another roar split the air, it was both piercing and guttural at the same time. Dean's vision wavered at the same time his gut clenched. He was lucky the tree was already holding most of his weight. He hadn't seen this creature and he didn't want to. Certainly not while it was so close and probably looking for food. There was crashing as foliage was trampled in the beast's quest, great sniffs and eventually, the panicked squeak of a Kruger which was cut off by a sharp crunch. Dean glanced at his brother, who had his eyes closed. Perhaps he was praying; an old instinct and a pretty useless one at the moment. God had no power here, at least, not the one that they knew; there weren't any rocks around that he could see anyway, so his prayer wouldn't be going to anyone useful. They hadn't seen  _any_  of the weird rocks slash Kruger soul capsules since that day at camp. Due to the change in weather, Sam was more sure now that it had been the seasonal shift that had triggered the reaction. Dean was still trying to wrap his head around bodies forming from light around pebbles, he hadn't really moved on from that part.

Now wasn't the time to worry about Kruger biology. Clearly, there were bigger predators in these woods. The grisly sounds of flesh being ripped apart and bones crunching was instinctively repulsive. Krugers weren't that big, maybe this thing had a small mouth, better for tearing and less swallowing whole. He'd been picturing a typical T-Rex but now that image didn't fit. But that was okay, he could definitely live with not knowing.

Hoping the thing was distracted with the Kruger, Dean pulled his brother quietly into denser forest. They crept between the trees, moving slowly, carefully, so as to avoid any noise. Until Dean slipped on a patch of mud and, automatically, his foot landed heavily to steady himself, right onto a thick branch; the snap echoed oddly and made the brothers freeze, the sounds of feeding stopped, replaced by a shrieking roar and Dean caught half a glimpse of a huge, yellow eye, peering through the trees in the darkness, right at them.

"RUN!" Dean yelled, pushing his brother ahead of him. They ran; it was like trying to outrun a storm, trees began to crash around them, blocking the most direct pathways, they didn't pause, Sam took a sharp left and Dean followed, a growl like thunder at their heels. Dean didn't look back, he just kept running after his brother, Sam was running smart, dodging and weaving in between trees to confuse their scent, even going so far as to double back when the sounds of pursuit faltered for a few brief seconds. The thicker forest was definitely slowing the thing down, but not enough, not nearly enough.

Eventually, they found themselves flat against another tree, unable to keep running, hoping they'd gotten enough of a lead on it to give it pause while they forced themselves to breathe shallowly to avoid the trails of steam.

Unfortunately, the thing was still moving in their direction. Dean tapped Sam on the wrist and indicated that they should move, Sam shook his head emphatically, pressing himself more firmly into the tree. Clearly, he thought they should stay here, not risk the noise, hope that it would give up. Dean frowned, and felt the ground tremble as another footstep landed, only a few feet away now, perhaps just on the other side of the tree. A few deep sniffs and a low, rattling growl. Both of Sam's hands rose to press against his mouth, stifling the small whimper he had let out.

Dean looked at his brother. For a six-foot-four man whose hands engulfed average sized mugs and had endured torture concocted by the Devil himself, he sure did look like a scared three-year-old, screaming at a clown at the fair that Dean had gone without dinner four nights in a row to be able to afford. They had only lasted ten minutes. After getting the tickets and a quick ride on the teacups, Sam and Dean had been startled by a clown with a big fake smile and a big fake nose who tried to sell them a balloon. Dean had ended up kicking the clown in the shin for scaring his brother and dragging Sam all the way back to the motel, half-angry that Sam had spoilt the fair, half- _furious_. But after slamming the motel door behind them and rounding on Sam, ready to tell him just how fun the day was supposed to be and that he had completely  _ruined_ it for the sake of one guy in too-big shoes, one look at his brother's scrunched, scared face made his anger melt away. Sam was aware of how much Dean had been looking forward to today, and he was ashamed at his reaction. Instead of yelling, Dean pulled his baby brother into a hug and held him close. Promising that he would never let any clowns hurt him.

Irrationally, Dean smiled at the memory, even as the steam from heavy, hot breaths plumed around the side of the tree. Dean gently pulled his brother towards him, behind him, away from the immediate danger.

"Run, Sammy." He muttered.

Sam stumbled a few steps back as a gigantic maw came slowly into view, still stained with thick, red blood. The nose was a sickly pink, the skin a dull khaki colour. Any second that great eye was going to find them again and that would be it. Sam turned and ran, Dean clenched his jaw and sprinted in the opposite direction, towards the beast. He pulled out his blade and whacked the thing sharply on the nose as he passed. The thing flinched, probably more out of surprise than actual pain, but Dean took the few seconds it gave him to dive back into the trees opposite, away from the direction Sam had gone. That terrible roar sounded again and the footsteps started up, but didn't follow. Dean paused and looked back, the thing seemed confused, it might have blinked, it hadn't seen where its attacker had gone. It sniffed and it's head swung in the direction Sam had gone, where they had both been, where their scent trail was strongest. Dean hoped that Sam was already out of earshot.

"HEY!" He yelled at the thing, "UGLYSAURUS! I'M OVER HERE!"

The creature immediately locked his eye and shrieked again, twisting its sinuous body towards him. Something so large didn't have the right to be so fast. Dean ran for his life, those footsteps echoed death in their wake, that roar made his head ring. His lungs screamed at him, his breath was ragged, his senses were painfully acute. But underneath his immediate survival instinct was a small wash of relief. Sam could get away. Sam still had a chance. Dean didn't bother weaving between the trees, he just ran straight, trying to gain as much distance between himself and that thing as possible. Until, of course, he skidded to a stop at the edge of a cliff, mere inches away from where the ground just... wasn't.

"Oh,  _come on_!" Dean groaned, " _now_  this place gets a damn landscape?" This was just too cliché. With the pounding feed of the creature behind him, he guessed it would be out of the trees in just a few seconds, he didn't have time to pick another direction. He glanced over the edge. It was a long drop; a snake of water churning at the bottom of the chasm, he heard the rush of water more than he could see it in the dark. Then he glanced behind him. He  _really_  didn't wanna be eaten alive.

"Ah, screw it."

Dean jumped.

 

***

 

Sam had been running through the undergrowth for at least ten minutes until he realised that the creature was no longer following them. Pausing to double over, catching his breath, he glanced up, expecting his brother to make some kind of wisecrack about how Sam must smell so bad that not even that thing wanted to eat him. He already had a retort primed when he noticed that Dean wasn't there. Smirking, he straightened up, waiting for Dean to come crashing through the bushes, wheezing. He really should exercise outside of life or death situations. If he did, then maybe he wouldn't be so out of breath every time he had to fun further than a few feet. After about twenty seconds, Sam's smile faded.

"Dean?" He called, no reply, Sam narrowed his eyes, suspiciously, "now is not the time for a hilarious prank where you jump out and scare the crap out of me, okay? I'm not in the mood and I might actually stab you."

Still nothing. Dean didn't walk out from behind a tree with his hands up, grinning in that boyish way he had somehow never grown out of.

"Did you fall over or something?" Sam asked, walking back the way he had come a few paces, then a few more.

"Dean?!" Anxiety bubbled in his gut. Something was wrong. Had Dean been caught by that… thing? No, he would have heard it. As a matter of fact, he hadn't heard that thing following them since Dean had pushed him and told him to run, a strange look on his face, deeper than the usual gruff concern.

Sam's eyes widened suddenly, feeling all the blood drain from his face.

"No," he whispered, as though saying it would make it not true, "oh no, oh no. Dean, what did you  _do_?"

Then, he was running again, back the way he had come, past the tree they had huddled behind. There was no sign of the creature, but it had left a very distinct trail of where it had  _been_. It had gone the opposite direction to Sam.

"Dammit!" Sam yelled. Fury and worry for his brother eclipsing everything else. He was going to kill Dean for this one, that stupid, self-sacrificing, noble, protective  _asshole_. He was going to strangle him, he was going to punch him right in his stupid, brave face. He stopped running just in time, and suddenly he was wobbling on the precipice of a huge canyon. It had to be a seventy foot drop at least. And he could hear the rough waters below, flecks of white and the night itself seeming to move and roil was all he could actually see.

Frantic, Sam glanced to both sides for an indication of where Dean had lured the creature. But judging by the flattened grass, and indentations in the mud, the thing had spent a few minutes pacing this section of the cliff before retreating back into the forest at a much slower pace, the footsteps bunching together in a way that suggested walking as opposed to blood-lust enhanced frenzy. There was no blood to indicate it had caught up to Dean here, which only meant…

"DEAN!" Sam screamed it out, down into the water below. He didn't realise his legs had given way until his knees hit the ground. Hot tears pricked at his eyes before beginning to fall. There was no way Dean could have survived such a drop, it was too far down, the current too fast.

"You  _idiot_ ," he moaned, covering his face with his hand, something akin to numbness but much more painful settling into his body. "You goddamned stupid jerk. What the hell did you go and do that for?"

A deep sob wracked his body. Dean had used himself as a distraction so that Sam could get away. Of  _course_  he had. He always did. As though his life was something he could just throw away and no one would care. He never stopped to consider that  _Sam_  would care. That his whole life shuddered to a grinding halt every single damn time that Dean pulled something reckless like this.

His big brother was gone. And Sam was alone.

 

***

 

Dean woke up to the sun in his eyes. For a few seconds, that blinding light consumed him; then, the pain hit him. He groaned and blinked, shading his eyes with his left hand, waiting for his head to stop spinning so that he could focus. He was lying on the clay-like sand of a shore. It was daytime, nearing noon, judging by the brightness of the sun. The lingering water was chill on his skin, making his hairs stand on end. He coughed out a dribble of bloody water and winced at the rawness of his throat and the pain that shot through him as his diaphragm clenched. He tried to raise himself up onto his forearms but his right wouldn't cooperate. He glanced over at it, it was twisted at an odd angle. Definitely broken. Crap. He felt like he'd been strung up as a punching bag for Steve Rogers. He must have hit some rocks at some point.

The river lapped lazily at his feet, looking more like a fun place to go skinny dipping than the horrifying scramble between life and death that it had been. The cliff stretched up above him. He made a rude gesture at it with his good hand and, carefully holding his broken arm to his chest, sat up so he could inspect it better. It was a bad break. At least two places, and it hurt like a bitch. Steeling himself, he managed to set the bones, gasping with the effort and pain, what he wouldn't give for a bottle of bourbon right now. Then, he pulled off his flannel and tied it in a makeshift sling as best he could. It was painful and difficult with only one hand but this wasn't his first rodeo. Once his arm was safely held in place, he pushed himself to his feet, the dead weight against his chest throwing off his balance slightly. He peered up at the cliff-top, the creature was gone, obviously, it wasn't exactly gonna wait around; besides, he wasn't sure how far he'd drifted from where he jumped. He couldn't see a way back up. Maybe if he followed the river upstream, he could find the hill that would lead him back to those woods, to Sam. He hoped Sam was okay; he hoped he wasn't too mad at him.

Dean pulled out the flask he had somehow managed to hold onto. The blade that had been in his hand when he jumped was gone, of course. But at this moment in time, the flask was more useful. He gulped the contents down greedily, and refilled it in the river twice more before his throat was no longer scratchy. The coldness of it didn't help his core temperature, but he didn't care. Swallowing it down felt like pressing on an old bruise, like a kind of satisfying ache that wasn't quite pain. It was preferable to the feeling of his arm. He really needed some whiskey.

He shook his feet a little when he stepped back onto the bank. Despite the sun's piercing brightness, there was minimal warmth coming from it. His clothes clung to him, sodden and scratchy with sand. He'd probably get blisters. He rolled his eyes, typical. Nonetheless, he started walking. It was pretty slow going, he had to stop and rest every hour or so, just to keep his entire body from screaming at him in rebellion. The ground was definitely sloping upwards, but it was such a slight incline that it was only Dean's increasing fatigue that made him notice at all. At this rate, it would take him weeks to get back up to Sam, even though his body would thank him for the easy road. Either way, at the moment, he didn't have much of a choice.

He limped on, making sure to stay hydrated. He even managed to dig some damp jerky from his pocket and munch on that to keep his strength up. He'd have to set some snares tonight and see what he could catch. That would be a bitch with one hand. He grumbled as he chewed on the soggy jerky. He didn't have that much on him. It was pretty much all they'd been eating since they left their camp, it being all that they had already had shoved in their pockets. They hadn't had the time to wait for snares to catch anything during their four-hour sleep breaks, and their stocks had run low pretty fast. Now, everything that he had would last him less than a week, if he was stingy.

He flinched as a bird took flight, cawing. He was pretty jumpy, despite the fact that he couldn't waste his meagre energy starting at shadows. Injured and unarmed as he was, he wouldn't be much good in a fight if Krugers decided to show up. And with the cold setting in, made worse by his recent dip in the river, as well as probably some form of shock, his bones were already beginning to rattle with shivers. He didn't turn to check his six as often as he should either. If an attack was going to come, he wasn't in much of a position to defend himself. He felt so  _heavy_. His boots squelched through the damp clay as he trudged on, falling into a kind of exhausted trance. It was all he could do to keep walking. He had to keep walking, he had to find Sam. They had to find a way out.

For the first time since arriving, he was almost bowled over by an intense homesickness, perhaps it was the accumulation of all the moments of homesickness he hadn't allowed himself to feel. He missed the bunker, with its fully stocked fridge and long, tiled corridors. He missed the rec room with the flatscreen TV and the busted old couch that he and Cas sank into on movie nights, usually watching something that Sam insisted he couldn't stand to sit through one more time. He missed his car, the smell of clean leather and gasoline. He missed his guns and his room and his iPod. He missed making pancakes in the morning, he missed his comfy, grey dressing gown. It was stupid to miss stuff like that, he knew. But these things, aside from Baby, were a recent acquisition. He had grown up without a place to settle. Until they found the bunker, he hadn't stayed anywhere longer than a few months. He'd lived out of motel rooms and his car. He loved Baby, but you couldn't nest on the open road. Living with Lisa and Ben had been a dream. Bobby's had only ever been temporary. The bunker had been  _theirs_. And in that moment, he felt four years old again. His mother was suddenly gone; his dad had bundled him and Sammy into the car and all Dean wanted was to go home, climb into his bed and wake up to his mother kissing his forehead like nothing was wrong. He had wanted it so badly he had been unable to think about anything else. He hadn't spoken a word for months, until one day, what he wanted just disintegrated until it didn't matter anymore.

Except, he knew better now. He couldn't just wait around for things to get fixed, he had to fix them himself. He only hoped he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... opinions?  
> Do you like the plot so far? Are you confused by the plot so far? Me too! *high five*  
> I'm really hoping I can get this fic finished before the new episode but who knows if that's gonna happen 'cause it seems to have taken a turn I wasn't expecting. I had never planned to split the brothers up.   
> I guess we'll just have to see how it turns out.
> 
> All feedback will be placed on a pedestal and worshipped for eternity.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So, I apologise for the short chapter but I am rather tired. Things seem to be progressing though, so hopefully I'll be able to catch up on some writing this weekend, although I have a mountain of chores to do. I really should start doing some of those things during the week.
> 
> Anyway, here you are, 
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Sam woke with a start, his angel blade slicing through air. He'd walked for the rest of the night and well into the morning before his body had insisted he stop, but his sleep had been fitful and unsatisfying. It was much harder to rest when there was no one to keep watch in this world of monsters. His eyes felt heavy, he hadn't slept nearly as much as he should have. Nonetheless, he stood and stretched his muscles out. At least the coldest part of the night had passed while he had still been walking. He was following the cliff edge in the direction the water was flowing, maybe he could find a way down. If he could find Dean… well, they had survived the impossible before, maybe there was still hope. But as the hours passed and the river calmed and there wasn't even so much as a log on the shore far below him, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to that hope. His brain twisted images of a happy reunion into finding a broken corpse, glassy eyed and pale. Sam stood, brushing himself clean of dirt and twigs, running a hand though his hair as he tried to banish those images. He scanned the line of the beach and started up his trek once more.

As the daylight began to fail he was forced to stop. He wouldn't be able to see Dean even if he was down there and he couldn't risk falling off the cliff himself in the dark. He shivered in his thin flannel and went in search of some dry twigs and a couple of rocks he could use to start a fire; he hoped he was far enough out that the light wouldn't attract Krugers, but honestly, he needed the warmth more. He kept checking down the cliff for a twin fire, a sign, the slightest of flickers that his brother was still out there. But there was nothing. His fire was a comfortable blaze before the pressing weight of grief finally caught up to him; this wasn't a temporary parting of the ways. Even if Dean was somehow alive, by the time Sam found his own way down there, if there even  _was_  one, then it would probably be too late. Even if he found him, what could he do? He had no supplies or equipment that might help if Dean had a ruptured lung or a crushed pelvis. He hadn't even been able to do anything when Dean had gotten a busted rib for God's sake!

Sam stared into the fire. Keeping the faith was so much  _harder_  without Dean around. He had often thought of his brother as a drain on optimism because he carried a black cloud of doubt and pain with him wherever he went but without him, Sam had nothing to contradict or rally against. The conflict helped strengthen his own resolve to try and make things better.

He needed to get through this. He  _couldn't_  accept that Dean was dead until he found a body. If that happened… he would figure out the rest later, but Dean hadn't jumped off a cliff so that Sam could sit around feeling sorry for himself. He still needed to figure out a way home.

The fire sputtered and popped as one of the larger logs caught. As it burned, it gave off a strange smell, like blood and oranges mixed together. A sudden flare of flames illuminated a dark glint that caught his eye, he turned his head to see one of those strange rocks. Sam stood to retrieve it and as he got closer, he felt that unusual calm settle over him; the calm helped him to focus. He needed to keep Jack and Cas up to date, him and Dean being separated was definitely an unwanted spanner in the works. Now, even if Jack showed, they wouldn't be able to leave until they found Dean. There was no question about that. Cas would probably be just as adamant as he was on that point. He managed a small smile and held the rock in his hands. He prayed to Jack first, managing to tell him the facts without getting too caught up in the emotional implications of what he was saying. It was easier to reign his grief back from the kid, Jack didn't need that extra pressure, he was probably already doing everything he could to try and get them back.

Then, his thoughts turned to Castiel, Dean's most stalwart friend. He sighed as he stared at the rock. How on earth was he going to break this news? Sam had no idea what to say. He didn't know how Cas would react to something like this. Would it be better to wait until he was  _certain_? There was no point in worrying Cas if it turned out that Dean had no worse than a sprained ankle, right?

Sam's face tightened as his head turned to the drop behind him, not that he could see it. The increased wind on his back and an endless, rushing void, the sound of water softly roaring was the only sign that there was anything at all beyond the drop. He was as certain as he could be without a body. But telling Castiel would make it  _real_. Up until now, this whole world had felt kind of like a video game, and he was holding onto the hope that Dean would re-spawn at the next checkpoint. Sam passed a hand over his face, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

God had no power here, there was no instant fix for his brother this time, and Cas wouldn't be able to heal him remotely again, like he had after that Kruger attack with the fanged elk. It had taken a long time for Sam to coax out that the power that had healed Dean had definitely been Cas'. Sam had a theory about that of course, something about clarity of emotion making the connection more physical. Not enough to open a portal, but just enough for vestiges of power to cross over. In the way that the Krugers were connected, they also showed most often in even numbers. There were a lot of pairs that decided to fight together, regardless of tactical positioning. He also suspected that that was why they were so difficult to bring down, when in pairs, there was no lag, they were perfectly synced between the blows, but if another Kruger joined the fray, then sometimes the rhythm of the fight faltered. It had taken him a while to notice it, but once he had, seeing the way that they interacted back at the rock camp, how certain Krugers had just gravitated together, in pairs or small groups, immediately turning to find each other with their eyes, even having just been remade from light.

It had kind of reminded him of his brother and Castiel actually. He would have found the comparison funny, had he had the time to do anything but run. He had been tempted to mention this theory of pairing to Dean, but Dean hadn't seemed to care much about the 'how' and 'why' of the Krugers, only the 'where' and the 'how many'. He'd barely shrugged at realising what those rocks could do, even though they had been the  _one_  thing in this world that was more than killing and surviving.

As his thoughts turned away from the puzzle of how to get home and back to his brother, his chest began to squeeze painfully. He felt like he had in those few moments after the second syringe hadn't worked, before Dean came, gasping, back to life. He was suspended in those milliseconds of horror, left only with the realisation that Dean wouldn't be coming back. If nothing else, he would freeze to death without a fire. And there was no fire on the banks below, no light besides his own as far as he could see. Not even the moon was out tonight, that strange moon that lent everything a blue tone. It was just endless darkness. All the odds told him that Dean was dead, yet Sam just  _couldn't_  let himself give up completely. He never did. The lives they'd led, Dean had always come back,  _always_. Why should this time be any different? Dean was just too damn  _stubborn_  to die. He wouldn't leave Sam alone in this world. He just… he wouldn't.

Except… he might not have had the option.

Sam wiped impatiently at his cheeks, this doubting was almost worse than knowing one way or the other, he was torn between the desire to curl into a ball and sob until he could think properly again and the anxiety that every second he wasted sat on his ass was one more that Dean was out there somewhere, fighting to breathe. The conflict left him unable to do anything but stare into the fire, though the warmth didn't quite seem to reach him, nursing the small sliver of hope that couldn't seem to be squashed.

He passed the rock between his hands and eventually sighed, stilling. Cas had the right to know what was going on. He at least needed to know that he and Dean were separated over here, and he deserved to hear it directly from him.

 _Castiel._ He thought, letting the prayer float away through the rock. Dean had told him once, grudgingly, that he preferred to pray aloud, but that felt strange to Sam. More intimate somehow, although he couldn't quite define why.  _Cas, it's me, it's… it's Sam._

He paused to let that sink in. Surely the fact that it was _him_  praying and not Dean would set off some kind of alarm. Or at least it would make Castiel quirk an eyebrow. Sure, he and Cas were friends, but Sam would have to lose all of his senses not to notice that Cas and Dean's friendship was different. Sam ground his teeth together, wishing he could channel the professional Hunter, the one who broke bad news to families all the time but stayed outside of it all. Instead, he felt the pain.

 _Something happened, Cas. Dean… he's… well, he threw himself off a seventy-foot cliff and into some really rough rapids. I can't get down to him, I don't know how far he got washed out. But he's probably not okay. I can't imagine how he_ could _be. I'm going to go look for him in the morning, see if I can find a way down. I'll let you know if I find him, or… you know._

Sam paused to take a jagged breath. He was trying not to picture the look on his friend's face, the shock in his eyes, the fear. He was probably blaming himself for not being able to help immediately, fly over here and fix everything with a snap of his fingers, he was almost as bad as Dean in that respect. Guilt weighed them both down.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I have to tell you like this. I wish I could tell you for certain, I don't want you to worry. I mean, Dean had a blade on him and you know him, he's tougher than anyone. This can't be it. It just can't. It's not dramatic enough for him, you know that. So don't worry, Cas, I'm gonna find him and I'm gonna patch him up. I'll bring this rock with me so when I find him you'll know. I bet I won't even have to tell you, you'll just know, right? God, Cas. Please find a way to get us home. I can't lose him again. I can't survive in this place by myself. He has to be okay._

Sam wrenched himself out of the prayer and dropped the rock to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

 

***

 

Castiel stared at a trash can across the street from his bench. It currently contained thirty-six gum wrappers, forty-three pieces of gum, twenty-two tissues, a whole pizza box, forty to-go cups of coffee, seventeen assorted flyers and sixty-eight receipts that totalled one thousand two hundred and eight dollars and ninety-three cents. He had been staring at the trash can since the bag had been emptied, sometime around five am. It was a pleasant thing to focus on, each person that threw something away had a story to tell. The young woman who had thrown away the pizza box for example, she had been tottering home from a house party. Talking animatedly with her slightly less drunk roommate, who had seemed more concerned about their noon lecture, she had insisted the roommate take the last slice of pizza, 'for energy'.

Castiel heard a voice in his head that wasn't his own, along with a powerful rush of pain and loss. He tried not to listen, to tune it out as he had before, but that longing, that  _grief_ , compelled him to listen.

The voice belonged to Sam, and that told Castiel everything he needed to know, even before the name was spoken.  _Dean… he's… well, he threw himself off a seventy-foot cliff… rough rapids. I can't get… far he got washed out. But he's probably not okay. I can't imagine how he_ could _be. I'm going to… find a way down. I'll let you know if I… you know._

That was around the time that Castiel's grace began to shut down. He stood, the trash can forgotten, and began to walk. He faltered every other step as though threatening to break into a run, but he couldn't quite bring himself to. He wasn't completely sure what he was doing or where he was going, only that he was moving, letting his grace guide him. Sam's words echoing around his head. Dean was dead. Or if he wasn't, then he would be soon. Unless Castiel could get to him  _now_. Which he couldn't. He briefly thought that it was strange how he seemed to know where he was going, despite not deciding to go there. He shouldn't go back to the bunker unless Mary called. That had been the agreement. It was too dangerous to do otherwise. It didn't matter, he  _had_  to. He had to find out as much as he could. He needed to  _help_.

When he got there, the old Camri that Mary had taken him to the motel in was gone and no one answered when he knocked on the door. He elected to wait, and sat with his back to the door, all of his restlessness from a few moments before suddenly vanishing, leaving him lethargic and unwilling to move. He felt a strange thrumming from his grace, but it was far away didn't concern him. He was actually comfortably numb. He considered texting Mary to let her know that he was here, but dismissed the idea; it would really make no difference and he didn't want to distract her if she was working on something important. She would come back here eventually.

 _Oh boy, are_ you _in trouble_. A sly voice whispered in his mind. He paid it no heed, instead, he began counting loose pieces of gravel, just for something to do.

 

***

 

Dean woke where he had collapsed. He remembered walking until his legs had crumpled beneath him, and judging from the new sharp pain, he had both managed to twist his ankle and land on his broken arm. He didn't move. He couldn't. He was frozen to the bone, the pebbles around him were actually sparkling with a light blue frost. He lay on his front, his broken arm beneath him, painfully crushed between his own weight and the rocky ground. Each breath he took felt heavier and more difficult, especially as he inhaled some water. He cracked an eye, yeah, he was still on the beach, and the tide was inching towards him; on each forward rush of the waves, the spray tickled his nose. He knew he needed to stand, to roll away, shuffle to his knees and keep trudging, find a way back to Sammy. But he knew it was a futile hope. He wouldn't make it up a slight incline let alone any kind of cliff. His resolve of the night before was gone; he couldn't fix this, he couldn't get them home, he couldn't protect Sam. He felt the cold in his very marrow but he realised that he wasn't shivering. He knew that that was a bad sign but any vestiges of self-preservation had abandoned him when his body had given out. He was as good as dead already, Sam would assume that was the case, he was a smart guy. He'd be okay until Jack and Cas came for him. Pain shot through his chest. He didn't bother trying to work out the cause. He was already drifting back to sleep, holding his eyes open was exhausting, thinking was exhausting. Screw consciousness, right? He said that, at least once.

As everything faded, he felt suddenly lighter, as though he were turning into smoke, drifting upwards on the chill breeze.

 

***

 

Sam walked for the better part of the next day before he finally spotted something on the beach below, a faint flash of light in the afternoon sun. It was too small to be Dean, and he was too far away to see anything distinct, but it felt important. Of course, there was still that little issue of getting down to it without attempting to scale a seventy-foot cliff into freezing cold and likely deadly waters without any kind of safety equipment or climbing gear. He bit his lip as he stared down at the silvery glint; he wouldn't trust the vines around here to hold his weight, no matter how sturdy they looked. Roots here seemed to be shallow. His gaze swept the cliff and faltered; there was a small outcropping about seven feet down, jutting from the cliff face. It looked to be the only such outcropping. Easy to ignore unless you noticed how smooth the rock was. Which Sam had. That platform was too evenly shaped to have formed naturally.

He considered a few moments before shrugging. What the hell. He could always pull himself back up, although Dean would have struggled without a boost. He almost smirked at that, imagining Dean's indignant protest, the way he'd pull him into a noogie just to reassert his big brother status. The thought made his heart twist, so he stopped imagining and acted instead. He sat on the edge of the cliff directly above the platform and looked down, judging the distance and ignoring the instinctual terror of staring into oblivion. Carefully, slowly, he twisted his torso and lowered himself so he was dangling by just his fingertips, then, screwing up all of his courage, he let go.

He felt a split-second panic that he had miscalculated until his boots landed firmly on stone, jarring his knees, almost causing him to stumble but his instincts kicked in and he regained his balance quickly. He opened his eyes, he hadn't remembered closing them; instead of the sheer brown rock he had expected, he faced the mouth of a cave. The smell of warm, damp air, of mushrooms, mould and dark rooms left alone curled around him. The floor seemed to slope, not steeply, but distinctly  _down_. Sam pulled out his angel blade and adjusted his grip before heading inside, steeling himself, eyes darting into every nook and possible hiding place, although there didn't seem to be any. The path was straight and narrow and it  _was_  a path; the walls were chipped but they had definitely been shaped and Sam's brain whirred with possibilities. Clearly something had made this. The implications of that conclusion made his skin crawl. The tools used looked to be crude, this tunnel must have taken a very long time. Who had done this? And  _why_? These questions spun around in his head as he headed down into the dark. He could only hope that it led him to his brother. Was this how Cas had felt standing at the mouth of Hell before descending to save the Righteous Man?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? It's not my best work, I know, sorry! But I'm stressing about my self-imposed deadline and like I said, I'm rather tired at the moment. 
> 
> I hope I managed to get at least a couple of interesting moments in there to keep your attention while I frantically attempt to write the next chapter.
> 
> I hope to update soon!
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So I've been using this weekend productively and I have another chapter for you! Yay!
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Castiel heard the crunch of wheels on gravel and a clunking engine before the nondescript grey Camri rolled into view. He stood, the number of loose gravel chips that he had been so intent on counting just seconds ago leaving his mind immediately. Mary's blonde hair stood out from behind the windshield. He saw her eyes widen, then narrow as she slowed to a stop in front of him, Jack's curious face broke into a smile from the passenger seat and he scrambled to get out. Mary put a hand on his shoulder and stalled him, muttering something. Castiel read her lips,  _Wait here_ , she said. Mary got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She looked tired, there were a few more lines etched into the edges of her mouth than there had been only days ago.

"Why are you here?" She asked, squaring her shoulders. She didn't trust him completely, not like her sons did. He couldn't blame her for that.

"I take it Sam informed Jack of their new… situation?" He said.

Mary's lips tightened, "you mean how one of my sons is probably dead and the other one is alone in that place?" She snapped, "yeah, I'm aware. You said you'd call me if you were going to drop by."

"I did say that."

"So why didn't you?" Mary gestured at the car, where Jack was sat, visibly bouncing in the chair, grinning broadly at Castiel. Castiel felt a rush of affection for the boy, and for his fierce protector.

"There's someone else in that car." Castiel said, ignoring her question as he noticed a dark head peek out from behind Jack.

"You need to leave," Mary said, anger boiling in her every movement, "you said yourself that you coming here was too dangerous. If Asmodeus uses that… thing in your head-"

"-The boy can always fly away." Asmodeus said, walking out from behind the car, where he had not been a moment ago. Mary spun around, yelling for Jack to go, but Asmodeus dropped his lighter and the holy oil Castiel himself had poured out not an hour ago flared into fire around the car, trapping the occupants inside. Castiel heard the startled cries of Jack, the screams of a young girl. And Mary turned to him with betrayal in her eyes.

"You did this," she said, horrified, "you set this up! You  _betrayed_  your  _child_!"

"Ahem,  _my_  child. And you're giving him way too much credit there, Mary," Lucifer put in from where he was sauntering around the side of the bunker. "Cassie here really doesn't have much choice in the matter. Asmodeus has kind of got him on lockdown."

"You!" Mary growled, pulling out her gun.

"Mary, please, you know that won't work." Lucifer pushed past her, uninterested, then he perked up at the sight of Jack in the car. He had manouvered himself into the backseat and was talking rapidly to the dark haired girl. "Is that the kid?" Lucifer asked, his eyes swivelling to Castiel. Castiel nodded slowly, reluctantly.

"Enough of this," Asmodeus said, waving a hand. Castiel stepped forward and touched Mary's head. He just had time to see the venom in her eyes before she crumpled, unconscious. He felt a stab of regret at that, but it was fleeting and quickly overpowered by the more intense need to stand still and not ask questions.

Asmodeus turned to the car, in which Jack and the scared girl were huddled, holding each other.

"You know that won't hold him for long." Castiel said, dispassionately. There was something wrong with his tone as he said that. There should have been more… something. It didn't matter.

"It doesn't need to," Asmodeus said, then he raised his voice, "get out of the car, Jack, or I kill Castiel here and now."

The two figures hesitated. Then, Jack got up, brushing off the girl who tried to stop him, and got out of the car. The circle of holy fire was large enough for Jack to open the car door completely, but instead he inched out, closing the door behind him as quickly as possible.

"Why are you trying to hurt my friends?" He asked defensively, "I've already told you, I won't do what you want."

"Jack, you don't even know what it  _is_  that I want." Asmodeus said, if not for the smirk and the white suit, he could be a kindly figure, but those eyes were cold. "Now, why don't we work out a deal where everyone ends up happy?"

"Sure, it's not like you wanna destroy the world or anything," Lucifer said casually, inspecting his nails. Jack looked at him for the first time, then he frowned.

"You're Lucifer."

"You can call me 'Dad'." Lucifer said with a smile that might have been partially genuine.

"No," Jack said, "I can't. What do you mean about destroying the world?"

"Well, firstly, that stings kiddo. Secondly, sure he'll leave you alone if you do his bidding but the Earth will crumble to dust, everyone you love will be torn apart by the Shedim and the only gateway to Heaven will be sealed so…" he shrugged.

"Aren't you…?" Jack gestured between Lucifer and Asmodeus, who was rolling his eyes. "Aren't you on  _his_  side?"

Asmodeus smirked, "a technicality. Unfortunately, Lucifer will not be able to help you. His grace isn't quite intact, you see."

"Or I'd have squashed him like a grape," Lucifer concluded, nodding.

Jack looked confused, but credit to him, he didn't falter. He faced Asmodeus, "release Castiel or I won't listen to a word you say. I've been practicing with my powers, I'm stronger than this circle. I can break it."

"I don't doubt it, lad. But you see, if I set Castiel  _free_ , then what's to stop you from simply trying to destroy me? If I hold him, and you try  _then_. Well you can bet that the last thing I do will be to watch your reaction when I turn his grace to poison and it eats him from the inside. You have my word on that."

Jack hesitated a moment and looked to Castiel. Castiel did nothing. Whatever Jack saw in his eyes seemed to scare him and he looked back to the Prince of Hell,

"My word."

Asmodeus chuckled indulgently. "Boy, if I trusted the word of everything who had tried to make a bargain, I wouldn't be here now. You're half-human, your 'word' isn't binding the way that mine is and I'd be a fool to think otherwise," he walked forward a couple of paces, standing far enough away so the flames couldn't accidentally touch him, but Jack flinched back anyway. Something in Castiel reared, he didn't like the predatory look in Asmodeus' eyes. He took a half-step forward before he wondered why, and then he stopped wondering.

"Besides," Asmodeus continued, "I didn't come out here, reveal the full extent of my influence on Castiel, bring your father, just to slink back to Hell with nothing gained. You will obey me, Jack because if you don't, Castiel will die, Mary will die, that girl in there will die, and you will never get Sam Winchester back. From what I understand, Dean is already a… lost cause." Jack recoiled and looked down at the floor. Castiel wanted to reach out for him, he wanted to smite Asmodeus for putting Jack in this position, he wanted Asmodeus' words to be  _wrong_ , he wanted… nothing. His shoulders relaxed from where they had been tensing, preparing for a fight.

" _That_  explains it." Lucifer muttered, though no one paid him any heed.

Asmodeus glanced over at Castiel and flicked his fingers. Suddenly, his vision went white, his grace writhing in agony. He fell to his knees, ordinarily he'd be gasping but his habit of breathing had been robbed from him, he could only make a strangled noise. Jack looked on in horror, his eyes glowed gold and a pulse of power pushed everything in a ten-foot radius backwards. The holy fire died and Jack ran to him.

"Castiel?" said, panicked, falling to his knees beside the seraph, "how do I fix you? Tell me how to make it better!" He sounded very young. Castiel felt an overwhelming urge to comfort the boy, despite his own pain. He placed a hand to Jack's cheek and Jack scrambled away from him at the touch, Castiel's hand dropped back to the ground. He wasn't sure why he'd raised it. He convulsed as his grace twisted, roots of abomination spreading, grasping hold,  _controlling_. How had he not noticed this earlier? Why had he not considered this possibility? This filth inside of him hadn't been just spying. It had been  _growing_. It now consumed almost half his grace. Corrupted and oily, repelling whatever pure parts still remained. He strained to pull away from it but it was hopeless. Jack had clearly felt it, he had seen the wrongness and he was disgusted by it, as he should be. The pain receded, as did the clarity of Castiel's mind. He needed something to remind him, something that wouldn't fade, something pure. He watched from the ground as Jack spun, only to find that Asmodeus had the girl from the car by the throat. She struggled and kicked, but his grip was too strong, her feeble attempts to get free only seemed to amuse him. Jack cried out, now unable to summon his power unless he hurt the girl, he still didn't have full control of his abilities. Castiel's head felt like a child's scribble, with jagged, sharp points and a confusing swirl of entangled lines, impossible to smooth out.

Lucifer had taken up a position leaning against the hood of the Camri. He caught Castiel's eye and winked, before quickly darting his eyes skyward. Castiel's mind began to blur, his resolve faltered, he reached for the last, pure thing he could think of. He tuned in to angel radio, and turned the volume up. The sudden, piercing noise made him cry out, but it worked, the part of Asmodeus in him didn't retreat, or shy away, but it  _did_  pause, and if he focused on the noise and the pain then he couldn't listen to any other commands, subconscious or otherwise, and if he focused hard enough then it might just-

Asmodeus clapped his hands to his head, letting go of the girl who kicked him in the shin (which was ineffective) and ran to stand behind Jack, who sent out a powerful blast that shook the trees on the edges of the clearing and made the Camri flip onto its side with the sheer force. The Prince of Hell however, wasn't thrown back, instead, the blast went  _through_  him, Castiel felt the darkness in his head melting, thrashing, beginning to peel away in flakes of ash. But through all of that, Asmodeus met his eyes, and then Jack's. He said something, Castiel could only just make out the words.

_I told you my word is binding, boy._

Then, he felt a sharp scratch, like an injection directly into his grace and the world fell silent.

 

***

 

The tunnel levelled out and began to curve around after about twenty minutes of walking. Sam didn't lower his guard. He was still completely overwhelmed by the very idea of this tunnel existing. Did the Krugers do this? They were the only creatures even resembling humans that they'd come across. And humanoid anatomy, or at least height and a pair of strong arms, probably with bones of some kind, was needed, as well as the intelligence to work with tools. Maybe the Krugers weren't the mindless killers they seemed. Sam had thought this before, of course. Especially since his theory on pairing. But that was… natural history. The same way that swans mated for life and wolves hunted in packs. This was too  _human_. It required forethought, planning, a desire for exploration and the free time and dedication to work rather than scavenging for food. Honestly? The whole thing freaked him out.

Sam tried to push it from his mind, he had bigger things to worry about, like Dean. Had he survived the night? Was he badly injured? How long was this tunnel? Sam kept walking, unanswerable questions looping around in his head. He kept the hand that wasn't on his blade trailing against the wall in case of a side passage or a sudden change of direction, he had been walking in complete darkness for the last fifteen minutes, since the light from the mouth grown weaker until it had stopped reaching him entirely. The only sounds were his footsteps on the stone and his breathing, which he fought to keep even. He really didn't like the feeling of not having Dean at his back. Although he got annoyed at times that Dean wouldn't let him hunt alone, he knew, deep down, that it wasn't because Dean didn't think he was capable, it was because he was still 'little Sammy', and no matter how tall he got, or how many bad decisions he made, he would  _always_  be the kid that Dean had protected his whole life. Sure, it was frustrating sometimes, he always felt like he had something to prove, to get out of his brother's shadow and stand on his own two feet. But it was nice knowing that no matter what crap he got into, Dean would always be there to help him out of it. He only hoped he'd returned the favour enough times. They'd never be even, not completely, but Sam liked to think that he had proven himself Dean's equal over the years. He had cured him of being a demon after all, that had to count for something.

It was a few long minutes before the blackness of the tunnel lightened to grey, and the gently swish of water reached his ears. The air reaching him was fresher, sharper, it smelled clean and cold with a faint hint of earth. When he finally emerged, his feet sank into the clay-like sand and his hand raised automatically to shield his eyes from the brightness while they adjusted to the light. He looked up. The platform was almost directly above him, although he shivered, at least the tunnel had kept the wind-chill from setting in. He stowed his blade and cast his eyes down the beach on the opposite side of the river. There, that glint. Sam contemplated the water. The current looked strong, but the river itself didn't look too deep. He hoped it had been deeper where Dean had landed, otherwise there wouldn't have been enough space to cushion his fall properly.

That thought flashing through his mind, Sam stepped into the rushing water. He shivered violently at the sudden shock of cold as water flooded into his boots, he'd need to dry those by the fire tonight as best he could. He waded across, glad that his 'freakishly long legs' as Dean called them, meant that the water didn't reach beyond his thighs. He still had to fight against the current, bracing himself with every step, shuffling rather than walking just so he didn't lose his balance and get washed away. It took him longer than he thought it would to push through the water, navigating the loose stones on the river bed, placing his feet with as much care as he could before he finally reached the other side. He didn't stop moving, but instead rushed over to that mysterious object that had grabbed his attention, stumbling with the sudden loss of resistance, he dropped into a crouch and picked the thing up, his heart squeezing. It was an angel blade. _Dean's_  angel blade. Sam held the thing for a few moments. Banishing his first thought, that Dean would  _never_  let this thing go willingly, and comforting himself with the fact that it had probably been lost in his fall, getting battered by strong currents wouldn't exactly make it easy to keep a grip on anything, let alone something so smooth. His fingers traced the Enochian symbols carved into the underside of the small hilt before shoving it into his belt, next to his own.

"Dean!?" He called, not really expecting an answer. Though when none came, his stomach dropped just that little bit more. Had Dean washed up on the beach before or after his blade had? Could he have missed Dean in the darkness? What if he had retreated into the woods, or passed by while he slept? Or was he further downstream? Sam glanced left and right, considering his options. His instinct pushed him downstream and he followed it, a Hunter's instinct counted for something.

Nothing could have prepared him for the fear when he saw that huddled lump of clothing on the beach, less than an hour later. He ran to it, falling to his knees, pulling his brother by the shoulder to turn him over. His lips were blue, his skin icy to the touch, he wasn't breathing. His right arm had been bound in a clumsy sling, the bones clearly broken. His green eyes were closed. Purple blotches stood out on his exposed skin.

"Dean?" Sam whimpered. This was worse than he had imagined, despite the images of blood and horror his brain had contrived, this was so much worse. He was too late. His brother had frozen to death on some godforsaken beach a world away from home. Sam pressed his fingers to Dean's neck, silence echoed back and Sam broke. He screamed his pain, uncaring of who or what heard him, he cried his brother's name and clutched at the cold corpse, his body heaving with the force of his sobs. This felt like the first time Dean had died, like  _every_ time that Dean died. Except more crippling, out here, there was no way back. There was no one to deal with, no heavenly power to evoke. He tried anyway, he pulled out the rock in his pocket and he prayed to Chuck, to Jack, and finally, to Cas. Perhaps the one other person on earth that would truly care, assuming of course that Mary hadn't made it back yet. Oh God, what was he going to tell  _her_?

_He's gone. Cas, I don't know what to do. His body is right in front of me and I just can't make it real. He's really gone and I can't bring him back. This is all my fault. He was just trying to protect me._

Sam didn't know how long it took before he sat back on his heels, staring down at the body of the man who had done so much. As he made to stand, to fetch wood for a pyre perhaps or just to go punch a tree, he wasn't sure, he saw a small pebble that wasn't like the rest. Black stone, refracting the light like it had been slicked in oil. He stared in awe at the small thing that now contained, or  _was,_  Dean's soul. Hope kindled in his chest. This was unexpected, different, this was something he hadn't planned for. Dean wasn't a Kruger, why would he-?

His brain clicked through different possibilities before landing on the most likely. It had to do with connection. Maybe, that he had prayed to Cas, that he had forged a connection  _through_  the power that Krugers used, maybe that had been enough to bind his soul in the same way. Sam ground his teeth in frustration. The real question was, how could he use this to get Dean  _back_? How could he find answers without a library? Without the internet? The only creatures that might be able to help him understand had been trying to kill them since they arrived and even if they stopped long enough to try and communicate, there was no way they'd be able to understand each other.

Sam reached over and picked up the pebble. On contact, he felt  _Dean_. It was the calm that came when he knew Dean was watching his back, it was the warmth of feeling protected and safe, the surety that Dean would never leave him alone, the familiarity that came with spending their lives working together, looking out for each other, sharing a beer at the end of the day, arguments that ended in laughter, concern that could be smothering but came from a place of love. The feeling was so strong that he almost dropped the stone. Instead, he closed his fist around it, relishing in the feeling it evoked.

He would find a way, whatever it took. Because that was what Dean would do.

 

***

 

The next thing Castiel knew was a searing headache. His vision swam and gradually reformed. He was in his room in the bunker, Jack was sat on the chair next to him.

"He's awake!" He said, brightly.

"Finally," came Mary's muffled voice. Then, his head snapped to the side with the force of the slap. Jack stood with a yelp and looked as though he was about to protest but Mary shot him a glare and he looked down instead, sinking back into his seat.

"You almost got us all  _killed._ " Mary hissed at him as he turned his head back to look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, full of anger and pain. "You  _helped_  Asmodeus set a trap for us, for your  _son_. I don't care  _what_ kind of whammy he put on you. I've lost one child today and you almost cost me the other."

"Lost…?" Castiel croaked, his voice hoarse, he didn't question the slap, he had deserved it. He should have fought harder against Asmodeus' influence, he should have  _noticed_  when it had taken his autonomy. He inspected his grace, despite the fact that he was even allowed into the bunker should tell him everything he needed to know, and breathed out in relief. No trace of Asmodeus remained.

"Sam… found Dean's body, Castiel." Jack said gently, glancing at Mary, who turned away, hiding her face. "He was… very upset."

All relief inside of him turned to lead at the words. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but he couldn't summon any words so he closed it again. He had almost forgotten Sam's prayers, the more immediate problem of Asmodeus had eclipsed his already constant worry for the Winchesters.

"I still don't see why we had to wait for him to wake up." Mary snapped at Jack. "We can't hang around here any longer. Sam is still in danger, we need to get to him. Now."

"I wanted to make sure Castiel was alright." Jack said firmly, as though they had had this argument before.

"Well now you know he is. Asmodeus is gone, Castiel is alive, Lucifer's locked in the dungeon and we have Kaia, whoop-dee-doo, it's a beautiful day. I  _need_  to find my son." Mary's eyes blazed with intensity.

"Let me come with you." Castiel sat up, ignoring the way his head spun, "perhaps there is something I can do. Maybe I can heal him, or… we can find something."

"That's not going to happen." Mary growled, turning that fiery gaze on him, "you can't raise the dead. Jack told me about that security guard in Dodge. Dean is dead. And I don't care if Jack says that Asmodeus is gone from your grace, I don't trust you after what you just pulled. Hell, I barely trusted you anyway."

Mary straightened her back and made for the door. "Ten minutes, then we go."

Jack nodded as she left. Then faced Castiel with a small, apologetic smile.

"She's a very scary person."

"Yes, she is," Castiel agreed. He reached for Jack's arm, gripping his wrist, "I have to go with you. I  _have_  to try and save him."

Jack cocked his head, frowning.

"But… there's nothing you can do."

Castiel just met the boy's eyes.

"You care about him very much."

"I do." Castiel's voice cracked at the words.

"Grief is strange," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. Castiel swung his legs off the bed so that he was sitting. It felt too strange to be lying down when he wasn't relaxing, "everyone seems to react differently to it. I don't know how I should feel."

"There is no  _should_  in grief, Jack," Castiel said, letting go of the boy's wrist and placing the hand on his shoulder instead, "you will feel what you feel and that's okay." He pushed down his own emotions. Jack was young, and confused and needed guidance, not whatever threatened to break over Castiel.

Jack nodded, playing with the cuff of his sleeve.

"When I knew that my mother was dead, and you, I was sad. But I had never met you. I think I would feel differently if you died now."

Castiel pressed his lips together. He was pleased that the boy was opening up to him, glad that he was expressing his emotions, but Dean was dead and Sam was in danger and they  _needed_  him. This was why he had returned from the Empty. He was supposed to protect the Winchesters, they were in his charges, but more than that, they were his  _family_. He would save Dean. He couldn't lose Dean. Jack continued, oblivious to the impatience that the seraph was holding back.

"Dean wasn't very kind to me before you came back," Jack said quietly, "He didn't like me very much. He said that I was the reason you were dead. Sam told me he was just sad. But he didn't  _act_  sad. He was just angry all the time. But I thought that he  _must_  be good, because you and he had been friends and he missed you. And Sam was nice and  _he_  stayed with him. You must have liked him for a reason. But I didn't understand until you came back."

"Dean is both the most complicated and the most straightforward person I have ever met," Castiel said, smiling at the puzzled look on Jack's face at the contradiction, "he is honest and brave, and once you have earned his trust, he will fight for you and protect you with everything he has. His problem is that he doesn't know how to ask for help when he needs protecting."

"But… he never needed protecting." Jack said, wide-eyed, "Nothing frightened him. What did he need protecting from?"

"Himself." Castiel said with a sigh. "Don't underestimate the damage we can do to ourselves, Jack. Dean will never seek out comfort when he needs it, nor will he accept it if it is offered. I keep trying to make him understand-" he trailed off, shaking his head, it wouldn't do to go into the details of how deep Dean's scars went, how strong his self-loathing. Dean could be callous at times, even cruel. But Castiel knew that his attempts to push people away were all bluster. Dean had never grown out of the deep-seated fear of abandonment, so when he brushed off affection, when he yelled and threw insults and threats around, he was really just trying to give everyone else the excuse to leave, the excuse to blame him, like he always expected them to. "That's neither here nor there. We should go."

As he stood, a wave of dizziness hit him and then passed. Jack sprang out of his seat and they headed down the hallway.

"Did Mary say Lucifer was in the dungeon?" he asked, suddenly recalling the words. Jack nodded, scuffing the toes of his shoes on the floor.

"I haven't gone to speak to him. He's not my father."

"Why did he stay?"  _Why didn't Mary kill him?_  was the question he really wanted to ask, but didn't think it appropriate.

"He said he wanted to talk to you. That he wouldn't mind if we locked him up. His power isn't very strong. I can feel it."

"Part of his grace has been taken."

"He talks a lot."

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "yes. I'll speak with him when we get back. Getting the Winchesters home is our main priority."

"Getting  _Sam_  home."

"Pardon?" Castiel looked down at Jack.

"I read about grief. I think you're in the denial stage. Dean is dead, Castiel."

"So was I." Castiel's tone was a little sharper than he intended. "The Winchesters have died multiple times and they have always found a way back. I will find a way to save Dean or I will exhaust every avenue before I give up."

"Because you want to protect him?"

"Because he's my friend. Because he means a lot to me. Because I  _can't_  lose him without at least trying."

Jack was quiet for a few moments.

"I think I understand." He finally said.

Mary glared at him when he entered the war room, she broke off her conversation with the dark-haired girl to do so.

"You'll like Kaia," Jack muttered to him, "she's very nice." He walked over to her. She folded her arms and jerked her head towards Castiel, asking Jack a question that Mary's voice interrupted.

"I told you, you're not coming."

Castiel held up his hands, placatingly.

"Mary, please. I  _have_  to do this."

"My son is not your project!" She yelled, "I won't let you twist his soul into something unrecognisable. I won't let you make a deal that means he'll be on a pyre before the year is out anyway! I won't let you bring him back only to make me lose him again! I don't  _care_  what Heavenly plan you have for him, I don't care about any of it!"

"You think Dean is just a  _project_  to me?" Castiel said, taking a step back from the force of her words, "I want to  _save_  him, Mary. I want to bring him  _home_. And if you want that too then you won't object to me coming with you. Sam and Dean are my friends and they need me."

"They've never  _needed_  you, Castiel." Mary said, "you have brought them nothing but suffering."

Castiel blinked, those words slicing through him. "That's not true." He said, quietly. "We're family."

"No.  _I'm_  family. I know my boys."

"I'm sorry, Mary. But you don't."

Castiel let the words hang there. He had had enough. Perhaps Mary was right to blame him, but right now they had the same goal. He understood that she was just lashing out in her pain, the way that Dean often did. But that anger wasn't helpful right now.

Mary stared at him, shock in her eyes. Then, after a long moment, they softened.

"You're right." She said, "I'm sorry. We could use an angel on our side."

Castiel smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Right," said Mary, clapping her hands together, turning to Jack and Kaia who were standing there awkwardly, both looking uncomfortable. "Let's go and get my sons back."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray?
> 
> What do you think? Any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated and makes me goofy-smile.
> 
> I don't know about you guys but I've always felt a weird tension between Mary and Cas. I'm not sure they get along too well, and even if I'm wrong, it was still pretty cool to explore.
> 
> As always, feel free to get in touch, I love to hear your opinions on things!
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So I've been writing like crazy trying to finish this fic before the new episode came out. Needless to say, I failed. I'm still writing like an idiot because I won't let myself watch said episode until this fic is finished (so no spoilers in any comments please, this is Hell). I thought I was getting there but then a curveball happened and it's a whole other thing now so it might take a little longer. There is more to come, I might even be able to finish it soon. I'm hoping I can post the next chapter up later today but honestly, who knows at this point?
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Sam set up camp by his brother's body after dragging it a little further up the beach so the water wouldn't reach them. He found a large boulder to sit on and made a fire, chewing on some jerky. He rummaged through Dean's pockets and pulled out the snares, walking off a little ways to set them up. He thought about praying to Cas and Jack again but he couldn't find the words to explain; he didn't want to think about what it would do to them if he told them there was a chance after all, only for everything to fall apart.

Especially Cas.

Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew that his brother's relationship with the angel was more complicated than either of them let on. He saw it in the way they looked at each other, the way they worried about each other, the way they bickered. He had tried to stay out of it, figuring that Dean was just overprotective because Cas was his best, and pretty much only, friend. But after witnessing the spiral he had fallen into after Cas had died, he was no longer so sure.

It didn't matter, he could figure it out after he got Dean back. He forced his attention back to the pebble in his hand, twisting it in his fingers, watching the way it seemed to drink in the firelight, almost seeming to glow with that oily rainbow. He tried holding it closer to the fire in case heat would generate a reaction, nothing. Then, he tried dipping it in the river, perhaps waster would have an effect? He struck it against another stone to see if  _that_  fire was different, it wasn't. He wasn't really sure what he expected. He had been certain that the mass regeneration they had witnessed had been because of the time of year, but he wasn't exactly planning to stick around for a whole year. Who knew if he'd even survive the week? He wasn't the steely fighter his brother was. He was good, sure, but against Krugers, good might not be good enough.

"Oh, son of a-" Sam cursed as he heard something other than the soft, background humming of the forest; the treeline had fallen still, in only the way it can when there was something there that didn't want to attract attention. Sam stood, drawing his blade, putting his back to the water as he stepped in front of Dean's body. He couldn't see much at first, the firelight had tampered with his night vision, but after a few moments, several Krugers stepped out onto the edge of the beach. There were at least half a dozen, far more than he could fight by himself. He stood there, wary. Although his blade was in his hand, he hadn't raised it ready to fight. He could hear Dean's voice in his head  _Rookie mistake, Sam._ But the Krugers made no move to attack although two of them were bouncing on the balls of their feet like they really wanted to, most of them just stared at him. One took a single step forward and cocked its head, its huge eyes narrowed in confusion. The one furthest on the right spotted Dean's prone figure and started excitedly, within a second, all of the Kruger's heads snapped to it. Sam angled his body in front of his brother's protectively, no way was he going to let Dean become Kruger food. One of the Krugers flinched back, the air thick with tension. After a few more seconds, the one who had stepped forward, the one he took for the leader's gaze flicked from Dean to Sam; struck by a sudden inspiration, Sam held out his hand, palm up and opened his fist, showing them the pebble. One of the Kruger's yelped, another jerked back, another still shifted its stance aggressively. But the leader stared at it, and then at him.

"Help me bring him back," Sam begged, dropping his blade and meeting the leader's eye. He knew they wouldn't understand his words, but he hoped his tone would convey enough. "Please, he's my brother. I need him. We won't fight you anymore. We just want to go home. All we ever wanted was to just go  _home_."

The leader quieted its group with a gesture and moved towards him slowly. It raised a clawed hand and Sam braced himself, he had made a stupid, desperate move and now he was going to die for it. But instead of feeling sharp claws tear at his flesh, there was a gentle pressure on his temple, where the Kruger's palm had landed. The skin was different than he thought it would be. It felt silky, almost soft, like the underside of a snake. Slightly rougher on the darker patches but not unpleasantly so.

Then, a surge of images and feelings were injected into his brain, disjointed, seemingly random, he gasped and would have jerked away, had he not been certain that making any sudden movements would be very unwise at that moment. The Kruger blinked and the series of images and feelings repeated. This time, Sam was left with a very clear impression of a question.

_What do you want?_

Sam gaped, wide-eyed, there was no possible way the Kruger knew English, his brain had clearly translated its thought processes into something he could understand. The way they thought, in structured imagery and emotion was fascinating and at least fifty questions occurred to him that he desperately wanted the answers to, but he held himself back. Instead, he thought the words he wanted to say and tried to translate them into emotions, then, he tried to  _push_  those emotions out of his mind and through the hand on his temple.

Thoughts of Dean as Sam remembered him from childhood, pouring him out a bowl of cereal, putting a band-aid on his knee, decorating a few lacklustre twigs with pine scented air fresheners from the gas station, humming along to Metallica in the car; Dean as a teenager, staring longingly at pictures of their mother, a lost kind of look on his face until he noticed Sam was looking at him and he snapped on a smile. He accumulated moments in between hunts; quiet days, sharing beers, long road trips, loud singing, watching the stars on the hood of the Impala. The concern he showed when Sam got sick or hurt, the open laddish charm that had slowly been replaced by guilt and pain over the years. Sam chose the moments where he had been suddenly hit by a rush of affection, even amused exasperation, like the way he flirted with attractive bartenders, the way he devoured pie and the warm look he got whenever he looked at Cas in a calm moment. Sam took all of the love he felt for his brother and showed it to the Kruger, trying to convey just what he had been through, what Sam owed him, what he meant to him. He omitted the anger, the arguments and the drinking, the slamming doors and the running away. Those things didn't matter in the long run. He ended the montage with his memories of that night at the rock camp, Krugers regenerating, and finally, his brother's pebble.

All of the Krugers in the clearing flinched at the same time, all of them simultaneously receiving his plea. He hoped it was enough. The leader removed its hand from his head and retreated a few paces, jerking its head towards the group and indicating he should wait. He did, watching as they gathered in a huddle. They made no sounds, but eventually stepped back as one and turned to face him. It was disconcerting, having so many pairs of eyes on him, judging him, conversing with each other in a way that he couldn't hear; some of the Krugers were scowling, others looked wary, others merely curious. The leader approached him once more, it had a distinctive dark swirl around its right ear. This time, Sam didn't flinch when it raised its hand to his face.

 _We have decided to help you_ , the response came as a sense of resolve and peace. With images of Sam and the Kruger standing, communicating, as they were now. And curiosity mingled with flashes of Sam's own memories that he had sent out, apparently, they were interested to know about his own world.

Sam sent back gratitude and relief, but also curiosity,  _thank you, but why?_

The leader pulled away and grimaced, Sam thought it was an attempt at a smile. The Krugers then all turned to head back into the woods and the leader gestured for Sam to follow. Sam hesitated, pointing at his brother's body. He didn't much like the idea of leaving Dean to be gnawed on by whatever predator was passing by. The Kruger paid his concern no mind and gestured again, more insistently; Sam had no choice but to follow, holding tight to the pebble containing Dean's soul.

They walked for about ten minutes before coming upon a group of squat, stone buildings of varying, interesting shapes. No two looked the same, the stone was slathered in the clay from the beach to hold it together and Sam noticed that the stone itself looked to be odd pieces, not like the uniform slabs of rock he was used to. Some chips were no larger than his thumb, others were huge, oblong blocks. It made for some really cool architecture and Sam couldn't help but staring as they passed through. Each was built beside a large tree and a slanting roof of clay attached the tops of the building to the tree itself, making a roof to keep the rain out. Ingenious. Some of the buildings even had the tree inside entirely; some had stripped some of the bark to use as a door. Sam took in as much as he could, hoping they were heading for a building so he could see inside one, instead, they veered off, passing a well, which a couple of their group stopped to drink from, tipping the water from a clay jug into their jutting mouths. Sam tried not to stare at that in case they thought him rude; it was clear that not all of the Krugers agreed with their decision to bring him here, some of them shifted uncomfortably, standing either too close to be casual or staying as far away as they could, out of range in case he went savage.

Sam quickened his pace, noting additional eyes watching him from gaps in the stone buildings, or peering out behind trees; evidently, their group was a select few, and the rest had either been instructed or had taken it upon themselves to stay well out of the way. Sam wondered what it was like to have so many other people inside your head, especially when each was off doing their own thing. He wondered if it was peaceful, or overwhelming, or if the Krugers had a measure of control over who could listen in. He was bursting with questions and only the weight of the stone in his palm kept him from trying to ask them. He hoped there would be time for that later, once he had Dean back. They could learn so much about the culture here.

Eventually, they stopped walking, Sam could barely see in front of them through the press of Krugers until they parted. A large boulder of the same black rock as the others. The leader waved a hand to him and he stepped towards the boulder. It had a small depression in it, the exact size of the pebble in his hand. Unprompted, Sam placed his brother's soul into the depression and waited for something to happen. After almost a full minute, the pebble  _melted_  into the depression, filling it, and hardening again, making the boulder whole and unblemished. Sam cried out in shock, he made to grab at where the pebble had been but it was just smooth stone. Dean was gone.

"What happened?" he asked desperately, turning to face the leader, his eyes wide, filling with tears despite himself. The leader cocked its head and Sam raised his hand to its face. Projecting the confusion, the loss.

The leader interrupted his thoughts, soothing him, images of that strange orange light, a sense of warmth.

 _This place is different to the emptiness you think of,_  it told him, thinking of Sam's own cold imagery of death (despite his knowledge of the reality), _all will return in time. More quickly since it helped us with training._ The Kruger showed him Dean then, Dean and Sam both as the Krugers had seen them, as tools to spar with, to work on their skills, to deepen the trust between each other,  _We built stronger connections, deeper bonds, this helps._

Sam received images of the pebbles of the Krugers he and Dean had killed being brought back here and given to the rock. Almost all had been reborn in light already, although he was shown the passing of ages, and took this to mean that it could take years, lifetimes, for those shut themselves away, who tried to isolate themselves from the connection as much as possible, to be returned. This was thought of as a disappointment, and a constant, underlying fear. For these creatures did die a permanent death, from what Sam could gather, it happened the second their connection failed entirely, leaving them truly alone.

After the Kruger had conveyed to him that these regenerations happened when the moon was at its zenith, (the time of the year seemed irrelevant for this particular rock). Sam pulled his hand back. It wasn't over. Dean might be part of the bigger stone now but that just seemed to be the process, nothing to worry about… right? God this was all so insane. How had things gotten to a point where he was justifying his brother becoming a rock?

He had no idea how this whole connection theory would apply to a non-telepathic human. He had no way of knowing it would even work tonight. Or whether it would take four days, or six months, or fifty years, or a millennia or two. When the Leader turned to leave the boulder, Sam reluctantly followed. It wasn't as though there was anything else to do until the moon rose anyway, he might as well learn what he could in the meantime.

 

***

 

Mary turned to Kaia and Jack expectantly, gesturing for them to get on with it; Kaia shied back.

"I can't go there," she said, "there's a  _reason_ I call it the 'Bad Place'. I - I don't want to go back."

"Kaia," Mary said, visibly impatient, "we talked about this on the way back here. You'll be safe. We'll be with you, and thanks to Sam's prayers we have an idea of what to expect."

"We don't even know if you'll come too," Jack said, "you didn't go anywhere last time."

"That's because you were trying to go somewhere  _else_!" Kaia insisted, shaking her head, "but I'm connected to this place and the portal will only lead there!"

Castiel stepped forward, ignoring the way the the world lurched unpredictably as he did so, the aftereffects of Asmodeus' influence had left him woozy and lightheaded. He would take the time to rest once he got the Winchesters back.  _Both_ of them. The alternative was unthinkable.

"Kaia," he said gently, the girl turned to look at him, her eyes angry and afraid, "you don't have to come with us if you don't want to. You can stay on this side of the portal. But we  _need_  you to help us open it. Please." His voice cracked, "I know it's a lot to ask. But I  _have_  to help them. I have to try and save Dean…" he broke of for a moment, taking a breath to steady himself, "just… please."

In his periphery, he noticed Mary looking at him strangely, but he had eyes only for Kaia. Eventually, she nodded. Castiel almost sagged in relief.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're a lot nicer than Dean was," she said, "he was a dick, waving his gun around, but I get it. I hope you can help him."

She turned to Jack and Jack placed his hands to her head, eyes glowing gold. Kaia whimpered and Jack positively exploded with power, the light coming from them was so bright that even Castiel had to shade his eyes.

Suddenly, it was over and a glowing portal, identical to the one that had led to the place they had trapped Lucifer, hung in the war room of the bunker, hovering over the table. Jack and Kaia stumbled back from each other, the latter doubled over, gasping, the former looking at his hands, confused.

"It took a lot longer last time," he said.

"That's because you were trying to pull me  _away_  from the Bad Place last time." Kaia snapped, folding her arms tightly and straightening up to lean against the wall. "Well, go on," she said, waving at the portal. "I'm staying here, you've got chips, right? Good luck and whatever."

Mary was the first to react, she hopped up onto the table and would have been through the portal had Castiel not placed a hand on her shoulder, despite the desperate desire to just jump through, damn the consequences.

"What?" she snapped, rounding on him. Castiel looked over at Jack, who was staring at Kaia, biting his lip.

"What if the portal closes while we're over there?" he asked her,

"Not my problem," Kaia answered immediately, although she shifted her weight uncomfortably, " _he_  said I didn't have to," she pointed at Castiel.

"We don't have  _time_  for this," Mary growled, shaking off Castiel's hand, "Kaia, it would help the most people if you came with us. As soon as we find Sam, we're coming home,  _no_  arguments." She glared at Castiel, as though attempting to comfort Kaia had somehow been the wrong move. Castiel shrugged. Kaia backed away stubbornly.

"How about they  _both_  stay?" Castiel said, reasonably, although he had a golf ball sized pain throbbing behind his left eye, which was distracting, "they'll be safe in the bunker and that way they can keep an eye on the portal. We'll be able to keep Jack informed of what's happening through prayer, and if necessary, him and Kaia can make another portal should it close and Kaia doesn't have to go into the Bad Place."

Mary gaped at him, clearly furious. Jack considered and nodded solemnly, Kaia looked surprised, and not a little relieved.

Ignoring them all, Castiel turned to the portal and walked through. He fell about three feet before hitting solid ground and his knees buckled, sending him sprawling, he managed to regain his feet before Mary followed, only stumbling slightly. As one, they both looked back to the portal.

"It doesn't really seem safe to just leave it here." Mary said at last, "what if one of those Kreeger things finds it and it gets through to the kids?"

"I'll tell Jack to be on his guard." Castiel said, sending a quick prayer, as they started walking, which Jack responded to with the image of the 'thumbs up' emoticon. Castiel rolled his eyes affectionately, it had been what Dean called a 'glorious mistake' to teach the boy texting. Especially given that Castiel himself regularly used emoticons in texts. He was particularly fond of the smiling chocolate ice cream one, something that Dean found hilarious for reasons he wouldn't explain. When they got him home, perhaps he would ask.

 _If_ a small voice said, gleefully.

Castiel shook himself and felt his whole body tremor. The temperature  _was_  rather low, Mary was already beginning to shiver. He shrugged off his trench-coat and passed it to her.

"I don't feel the cold," he said when she tried to refuse. She looked slightly ridiculous in the over-long coat but her arms were long enough that she could still hold her gun comfortably.

"You know," she said, irritably, after about an hour of walking, "this is where we could use an angel."

"I  _am_  an angel," Castiel grumbled, not really paying attention, he was following the tug of Sam's emotions; they were fainter than Dean's and harder to locate, but he had a general sense of the direction to go. It was already starting to get dark, and that was only making the ache in his temple worse.

"I mean a  _proper_  angel." Mary said, "you know, like Jack. An angel who can fly, get us places instantly, scan for danger, that kind of thing."

"Good luck finding one," Castiel kept his voice even, not wanting Mary to see how much that comment stung, he already felt inadequate compared to what he had once been.

 _Useless_  that voice hissed.

"Jack may be the only angelic being left who has working wings, he was created after the Fall."

 _The Fall that_ you _helped bring about_.

A pulse of sharp emotion from Sam made Castiel adjust his course to the left. He informed Mary of what he was doing, perhaps he would seem less useless with a direct link to her son. She merely glowered from inside his coat. Exasperated, Castiel threw his hands up in the air.

"I know you don't like me, Mary, and I know you don't trust me after what I did under Asmodeus' influence, I understand. But we have the same goal here. You know I care about your sons, you  _know_  that. If there's one thing that you can be sure of about me, it's  _that_. I'm not asking you for anything except to let me try and save Dean. Why are you so  _against_  that?"

"Because bringing someone back to life isn't the same thing as saving them!" Mary said loudly, her cheeks flushing, despite the cold. Castiel looked at her, surprised.

"You aren't glad that God brought you back?" Castiel remembered a similar discussion they had had not long ago, but as it had been more of a passing comment, he hadn't really thought about it.

"It's a mixed bag." Mary seemed deflated after her outburst, "it should have been a miracle, right? A second chance, to spend time with my boys," her voice trembled a little, "but it's been thirty-three  _years_  Castiel. John's dead and my children grew up without me. I came back to life to find strangers in place of my sons. Look at what they grew up to be. Look at where we are! This is their  _life_. I was happier not knowing that. And that English bitch, Bevan? She told me what Sam and Dean never did, how John had raised them, what he became, what he turned  _them_  into. This was never what I wanted for them. And I can't fix it. Then, I get trapped in another world with  _Lucifer_ , and I come back from being tortured by evil Michael only to lose Dean. This life, This  _miracle_. It's not the one that I left. Everything is pain and heartbreak and suffering and it doesn't  _end_. There's no light in this life any more Castiel. How can you stand there and tell me that this is better than Heaven? How can you tell me that you'll be _helping_  Dean by bringing him back?"

"They still have a lot to do here. They're important."

"That's not what I asked."

Castiel hesitated a moment, considering the question.

"I find it unlikely that the angels will allow his soul to enter Heaven," he said, solemnly. "I've gone against them too many times, chosen the Winchesters over them each time I was forced to choose. They will do all they can to reject him. Hell, on the other hand would be only too pleased to get him back and I won't subject Dean to that again. I won't."

He shuddered at the thought of the first time he had met Dean Winchester, coated in blood and viscera and  _laughing_.

"But God-"

"-God is gone for the moment. He will have no influence over Dean Winchester's soul until He returns and that may not be for millennia, assuming of course that those two options are even on the table in this universe."

"That's crap," Mary insisted, "if you really thought that Dean was in Hell, that's where you'd be right now. You'd find a way to get him out and either return him home, or sneak his soul into Heaven."

"Maybe. Maybe I'm just not ready to lose him."

Mary huffed. "Being  _ready_ has nothing to do with it."

They lapsed into silence then, while Castiel tried to get a better reading on Sam, the feelings he was getting through were still faint, he guessed they had a while to go yet before they even got close. It was only through Sam having that conduit on him that even allowed Castiel this much, ordinarily, he got very little from Sam unless he prayed directly. It was hard to think with his head pounding, every so often, his vision would tilt slightly and he'd stumble, and it would take a minute or so for him to re-orient himself.

After a while, Mary spoke again.

"Dean was four years old when I died. Sam didn't even have hair yet. Now they're almost my age and they carry worlds on their shoulders. You were right before, Castiel. I don't know them. The children I gave birth to died a long time ago."

"Is it so hard to accept who they've become?" Castiel asked softly, "Sam grew up brilliant and compassionate and optimistic, Dean is selfless and brave and fiercely loyal. Think of the things that they've accomplished! The people they've saved, the  _good_  they've done. Mary, your sons are heroes."

"I never wanted them to be heroes," Mary said quietly, "I just wanted them to be  _happy_."

Castiel fell silent. He didn't have a response to that. He himself thought the same sometimes. The Winchesters had been through more than possibly any other humans since the dawn of time. He too wished that a higher percentage of those things had been enjoyable, and that those happy memories weren't tainted with later loss. At least Sam was capable of separating the two, able to focus on the good things.

Suddenly, Sam's feeling flickered out entirely and Castiel's vision spun. He felt his knees connect with the ground, his body heaved with nausea and he vomited, his body reacting to the way his grace had begun to shudder, violently and seemingly without reason. He felt Mary's hand on his back, heard her concerned voice, although the words themselves were muffled, as though his ears had been filled with cloth. It was a few moments before his vision returned and his mind cleared. Mary helped him to his feet. What he had retched up was glowing with his grace, ethereal blue in the dark.

"What the hell was that?" Mary demanded. "Is this just a side-effect of Asmodeus no longer being in control?"

"Perhaps," Castiel said, his throat raw, it was painful to talk. Strange, "it doesn't matter. I can feel Sam again. It's this way."

He turned and walked on without looking back. Mary hesitated before following.

"You know we're going to have to deal with whatever it was?" she said, her voice tight.

"I will." Castiel replied, "later. Right now, we have a mission."

"If this gets in the way-"

"It won't." Castiel said through gritted teeth.

"It better not," Mary scolded, although her tone was less sharp than it had been, "it's always useful having an angel around."

Castiel turned his head to smile at her, "I appreciate the sentiment, Mary, but you don't have to pretend to like me just because I appear to be compromised. My priority is your sons."

"I'm not  _pretending_ , Castiel. I _do_ like you. You've done a lot for my boys and for that I'm grateful. I guess it just rankles a bit that you were there for them when I couldn't be. I appreciate that, I do. And I  _see_  how much they care about you. But I did always plan on being tough on the people my children would bring home and I guess I'm just trying to live up to that." She smiled wanly, "it's just hard, seeing how you fit into their lives so much more easily than I do."

"That's not true." Castiel said at once, "Dean stabbed me when I tried to introduce myself."

Mary laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. Castiel felt something at the edges of his grace, like a whispered conversation behind closed doors. He suspected it was the frequency that the Krugers used to communicate. It wasn't faint, but it also wasn't clear, like a radio stuck between two stations. He brushed it aside for now, noting its existence. It might be useful later.

 

***

 

Sam sat on a simply carved stool around the communal fire pit. The fire danced merrily and the warmth made his extremities tingle. A Kruger had reluctantly given him a wooden board with a few chunks of meat on it and Sam roasted them over the fire on the tip of his (very thoroughly washed) angel blade, it was gamier than the fanged elk, but tasty and it wasn't soggy jerky, which was a bonus. The blade didn't conduct heat the way normal metal did, so he avoided burning his hand as he ate.

The leader sat opposite him, focused on its own meal, using its claws the same way Sam used his blade. Sam had asked it its name, but the Kruger had laughed, a guttural sound that seemed to come from its very core. They didn't need names, it explained. They needed no definition when addressing each other. Sam accepted this but was still pondering how that was possible. With such a mess of different opinions and ideas and thoughts and feelings, wouldn't a defined structure be more useful to make sure everyone got their say?

Sam had learned a lot about Krugers in the past few hours, practically bombarding the leader with questions. They had spend at least two hours just standing together in one of the houses (simply decorated but meticulously neat), hands on each other's temples, just  _showing_. It was a beautiful way to communicate and Sam envied Castiel his angel radio. There could be no misunderstandings when everything was  _felt_ , there could be no lies when you could  _see_  the truths. Much of the way of life here was bizarre to Sam, just as the Krugers seemed to find the concepts of toothbrushes and electricity and dogs bizarre and fascinating in equal measure. The openness of these people was a warm change from the constant uncertainty of humans, body language seemed antiquated, sarcasm felt immature. Dean would have hated it. Sam had found it uncomfortable at first, but he simply  _asked_  that certain memories remain private because they were upsetting and painful and that had been respected.

The leader had apologised for the way that their sparring had caused them to fear. It hadn't been their intention to wound the newcomers, only to train their own. They had assumed Sam and Dean had the same concept of death that they did, of something easily reversible. Sam had laughed at that, and had had to give a (heavily edited) version of how that  _was_  the case, but not for most humans. When Sam had asked why the Krugers felt the need to train to fight at all given their fundamental need for teamwork, the Kruger had informed him that there were different groups of Krugers throughout the world, each on a slightly different… frequency of sorts, and that could lead to crossed signals and aggression. There were a few groups out there, small though they might be, that actually  _stole_  the soul-stones of those they killed, so that when they were reborn, it would be as part of a different group, and they would never be able to communicate clearly with them again, unless they were killed and their stone returned. There was a lot of grief in this explanation, and Sam didn't pry, though he made his own assumptions.

Once Sam and the leader had both finished eating, Sam looked up to see the moon already halfway through the sky. He stood, causing some of the other Krugers around to flinch, they weren't used to sudden movements, particularly ones they couldn't sense coming, and he began to walk back in the direction of the boulder, the leader let him go but touched him as he passed, it would come by closer to the time, it said, and it wished him success. Sam thanked it and carried on. The dark got deeper and the cold more piercing the further he got from the fire but hope spurred him forward. It was stupid, he knew, from what the leader had told him, it usually took at least a day or two for a soul to be reborn. But he couldn't help himself, he had a peculiar feeling that if Dean didn't return tonight, then he wouldn't come back at all. It was this more than anything that made his heart beat extra loudly in his chest, that made his mouth dry with anticipation and anxiety. When Sam finally got to the boulder, he patted the stone and did the only other thing that he could do.

He hoped.

 

***

 

They came to the cliff not long after Castiel's bout of illness, Mary still gave him worried glances out of the corner of his eye whenever he grazed his shoulder against a tree but he brushed off her concern. Castiel peered over the edge while they walked along it, looking for the ledge Castiel had seen floating through Sam's thoughts a few hours ago. When he spotted it, he gestured to Mary to go ahead of him, she might need to steady him when he landed. It turned out to be the right call, Mary had to brace herself on the edge of the cave itself and pull Castiel back from the edge where he tottered, grasping at the sleeve of his trench-coat. After a few seconds of intense vertigo he managed to regain his footing and scrambled into the cave.

He kept his pace quick and Mary kept up easily, this was another indication of how strange things were; normally he could outstrip a human without effort, but right now, he was actually feeling a deep kind of fatigue. He pushed through it, he couldn't afford to get distracted, not when Sam's longing was getting stronger, shot through with pulses of anxiety. They followed the tunnel and crossed over the river with reasonable ease, Castiel managed to only stumble once. Once they reached the other side however, the added chill of wet jeans combined with being out in the open with nothing to block the wind was clearly getting to Mary, even Castiel was shivering, although he wasn't entirely sure that the temperature could be blamed for that. Nonetheless, they stayed on the beach. Mary pointed out that it would be easier to find their way back to the portal if they weren't weaving their way through the woods. They followed the river, Castiel using Sam's longing like a compass needle, waiting for the moment when it would lead directly to the left of the direction they were walking in. He was concentrating so hard on Sam's emotions however, that he didn't notice the body until Mary stopped so suddenly that he almost walked into her.

Dean lay on the beach, face up, next to the remnants of a small fire that had long since burned out. Although Castiel had known that this was part of the reason he was here, the sight still shook him. It shouldn't, he knew, he'd seen bodies before, he'd seen  _Dean's_  body before, when Naomi had been tampering with his thoughts and actions he had killed Dean  _hundreds_  of times. This shouldn't be different. But it was, and it stole all the air from his lungs.

He passed Mary and fell to his knees in the clay next to the body that had once been Dean. He tentatively reached his fingers out to press against the cold skin and willed his grace to heal, it  _was_ still capable of that, he had healed Mary not too long ago when she cut her hand on a sharp section of the tunnel wall. But there was nowhere for it to  _go_. This body was empty, the soul was gone. He couldn't even tell  _where_. Normally there was a trace left behind, an aura of salvation or pain, but there was just… nothing, did that mean he had gone to the Empty? No, he knew that feeling too. Perhaps this world had different options, ones he couldn't sense. Perhaps Dean's soul had bonded to this place, despite it not being his home. Castiel sagged in defeat, staring down at the man he couldn't save.

 _Useless_ , he couldn't even do this one thing. He couldn't protect the human he had rejected Heaven for, the one he had fallen for, the one he had sworn to watch over, no matter the cost. He had failed, and Dean was truly gone.

"I… I can't heal him, his soul… I don't know where…" He trailed off, aware he was babbling, but his thoughts wouldn't assemble, he felt like a very large building had just been placed on his chest, he couldn't think about anything but Dean, the way his eyes crinkled when his smile was genuine, the way he was always ready with a quip, how he was so much  _smarter_  than everyone gave him credit for and so much wiser than he pretended to be; how focused and deadly he was when he fought but how gentle he could be around those he cared about; the way that he yelled when he was worried and the way he would cook when he was happy; how his silence could leave chasms and the way that he quietly longed for peace. Castiel could only hope that he had found it, though the uncertainty tore at him.

"Get up." Mary's harsh voice came to him as though through deep water. "Dammit Castiel, stand  _up_!"

He did, somehow.

"Feel it later," she told him, "focus now. We need to find Sam. There was some sort of confrontation here." She pointed at the clay and where it turned to dirt at the edge of the beach, there were clear marks, some were the imprints of boots, others of bare, not quite human feet, they led away into the woods. Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean to look.

"Sam wouldn't have just left him here." Mary said flatly.

Her face was stoic and her eyes were like chips of steel; she was barely holding herself back, Castiel realised, suddenly ashamed of his loss of control. He nodded and closed his eyes, once again finding the pull of Sam's emotions.

"Just a little bit further along this way," he said, "then it should be a direct line." Mary nodded and pushed past him without looking back. Castiel glanced back once, he couldn't help himself.

"Goodbye, Dean." he muttered, before following Mary into the trees. Mary was right, they had to focus on Sam now, it was what Dean would have wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, at least for now. I have like four hours left before I need to go to bed so I can be up for work but I'm gonna spend them writing! I'll do my best to update soon.
> 
> I'd dearly love to know what you think if you're willing to share? This fic has received very few notes compared to some of my other, shorter ones and I'm wondering if there's anything about this one that isn't as good? I fear I may be falling out of the characters a little and they might be veering off.
> 
> All feedback is dearly appreciated.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> So I had to call in sick at work today 'cause I woke up feeling awful but I thought, I can use this time wisely and here we are.
> 
> I swear this fic was supposed to be nicely wrapped up by now but these dorks had other ideas.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

As they got closer to Sam, Castiel could feel himself weakening. He still wasn't entirely sure what was wrong but he had a feeling it had something to do with Asmodeus' sinister last words. Castiel suspected that in his final moments, Asmodeus had indeed poisoned his grace like he had promised. He kept that theory to himself, of course, there was no point worrying about that.

Castiel also noticed that one of those conversations that hung almost out of his hearing was much stronger, there were still others, of varying distances and volumes but this one seemed linked to Sam somehow. There was something else too, another feeling, dim and familiar, but he couldn't place it, he wouldn't let himself.

"I don't think Sam is alone," Castiel said, "although I can't tell if this is good or bad, he seems nervous, although not frightened or hurt." Mary's mouth was a thin line as she nodded, her hand snaking to her gun. Castiel almost summoned his blade but resisted. Sam's anxiety didn't  _feel_  related to the conversation but it was rather hard to tell. It was best that Mary be ready for one thing and Castiel for the other.

As they walked, Castiel caught sight of a clump of building-like structures though the trees to their left, it was too dark for Mary to see them, although there was a faint flickering of firelight, mostly hidden by the solid shapes. Castiel didn't bother pointing them out to Mary, Sam's pull was at a different angle and Castiel very much doubted that she wanted to stop and sight-see.

They finally emerged into a clearing and spotted Sam immediately, standing in front of a huge, black stone that was swarming with light that nobody else seemed able to see; he was at least a head and a half taller than every other creature in the clearing. And there were a lot of those. Mary's gun was up faster than a blink, aiming at the thing standing next to Sam, Castiel's hand was on the barrel just as fast, forcing it down as every eye in the clearing turned to them. The conversation at the edge of Castiel's understanding buzzed into a frenzy, making his head swim, but it didn't feel altogether violent.

"Mom?" Sam said, bewildered, taking as step towards them, the creatures, what had Dean called them? Krugers? Parting to let him pass, "Cas?" his eyes flickering between the two of them before settling on Mary, "How-?"

"Sam." Mary's voice was strangled, she seemed just as overwhelmed as her son. The two of them rushed together, embracing tightly, speaking so softly that Castiel chose not to listen out of respect for their privacy. Once they broke apart, Sam turned Castiel, his hand lingering on his mother's shoulder.

"Hello," Castiel said. The word felt thick on his tongue. "We found… I couldn't… Sam, I couldn't heal him." His voice cracked as a wave of loss and guilt broke over him, his knees gave out and Sam caught him, holding him up, pulling him in for a hug.

"It's okay," Sam said, his own voice wobbling, "I know, it's okay."

Castiel pulled away from the hug, from the comfort he didn't deserve and wasn't ready to accept.

"It's  _not,_ " he insisted, meeting Sam's eyes, Sam looked too collected, too  _hopeful;_  he didn't understand, "his soul was  _gone_ , no trace of Heaven  _or_  Hell, noth-" He stopped, his gaze sliding past Sam, he had just felt a nudge from that other strange feeling again, it was coming from the boulder; he pushed Sam aside and stumbled up to it, the Krugers shifted around him uncomfortably, confused, but he paid them no mind, he ignored Mary too as she reached out to him, whether to stop him to help, he didn't wait to find out. He reached the boulder and touched it softly with a trembling hand.

"Dean is in here," he whispered. Something akin to pain and joy and relief and loss all rolled into one, he didn't know which one was real, or right, but he was certain of that feeling now, that one light in the thousands inside. It was Dean. He knew that soul, he had rescued it from Hell and it had saved him time and again, it was broken and cracked and flecked with darkness, full of anger and grief and pain and guilt, it was the softness of the fur of a baby mouse and the grit of gravel between the fingers. It was the most beautiful thing that Castiel knew, it was Dean Winchester.

"What?" Mary breathed, breaking the spell, Castiel whirled around, looking to Sam for confirmation, Sam nodded with a small smile, the light of hope blazing in his eyes. Mary strode up to her youngest son and punched him on the arm. Castiel moved towards them a few paces, although he knew that Sam wasn't in any actual danger.

"Ow!-"

"You should have called!" Mary yelled at him through her sudden tears, "You should have  _prayed_  to tell us that he wasn't… that he could…"

"I'm sorry." Sam said, "I didn't want to hurt you. In case it didn't work."

"How do we  _make_  it work?" Castiel growled desperately.

"We can't." Sam said with a half-hearted shrug, "either it will or it won't. They tell me it's based on strength of bonds or something." He gestured to the Krugers, then grinned, "so it's pretty lucky you guys are here. We're the three people with the strongest bonds to Dean, right? It can't hurt."

One of the Krugers stepped out of the crowd next to Castiel, it was the same one that had been standing next to Sam.

"That's the leader," Sam said, "they don't have names. They communicate telepathically, it's really cool." His eyes lit up as he said it, looking every bit the scholar he still was at heart.

Castiel nodded his acknowledgement and focussed his attention on the Kruger, who seemed to be trying to subtly move over to Sam, probably to communicate. Castiel considered the conversation in his head, searching through the different threads and eventually found one that match the Kruger's specific aura. He tapped at it politely with his grace, the Kruger's head snapped back to him in a heartbeat. A moment later, it allowed him access. They swapped questions and knowledge back and forth quickly, both of them far more practiced at this form of communication than Sam had been, Castiel was amused at how simultaneously arduous and intriguing Sam's meticulous care in choosing each thought had been for the Kruger. The Kruger found the concept of angels fascinating, just as Castiel pressed to know more about the process of Dean's soul returning. The Kruger also asked if all grace felt as his did, he replied that they did not, each was unique, but his had been recently compromised so felt less like it should.

It was only when Mary coughed awkwardly that Castiel realised they had been silently staring at each other for a solid few minutes. They broke their connection and Castiel felt the conversation snap back to something separate from him, the leader turned back to the others, relaying the wealth of information it had just received.

"When the moon is at it's highest point." Castiel told Mary, "they believe the moon itself chooses who to bring back, who will benefit the group most. It seems that there is something that helps to keep their population numbers steady. After their final death, their stones are inhabited by new souls. They are born fully developed, but must learn their skills through the connection. I think it has to do with the stones themselves, perhaps they  _cause_  the connection, a specific type of radiation perhaps." He paused then, Sam was nodding, interested, but Mary rolled her eyes and glared up at the moon, as though daring it not to choose her son.

"Whatever it is, we haven't been exposed long enough to be able to rely on Dean coming back later." Sam said, "I think we get one chance at this. It's  _got_ to happen tonight."

Castiel nodded, that made sense, any radiation that Dean had picked up was surface level, it hadn't gone deep enough to keep him in stasis for very long without degrading his soul entirely, it was only luck he had been exposed enough to even leave a pebble. The strength of his mental connections also seemed to be a factor, and with all of them  _here_  there was no better chance.

So they waited in silence while the moon inched its slow way upwards. A lot of the Krugers were tense around them, some of them seemed curious, others wary, some seemed to feel duty bound to stay, but many got bored of waiting and vanished back into the trees. Soon, there was only a select few, then fewer, then even the leader decided to leave, whether to give them privacy or because because it had other duties to attend to it didn't say. When the moon was almost there, Mary grabbed Sam's arm.

"Whatever happens," she said, her eyes fixed on the boulder, "we go home tonight."

Sam swallowed hard but nodded, "Yeah," he said, "okay."

Castiel said nothing, keeping his eyes on the swirling light of Dean's soul.  _Please,_  he thought, though he wasn't entirely sure who he was praying to. Every part of him was on edge, straining with tension.  _Just… please._

The moon hit its zenith and not a breath left the lips of the three watchers. Mary held her youngest son's arm tightly, Sam moved his other hand to grip the shoulder of the coat she was still wearing, Castiel felt so taut that he could snap at any second, his teeth clenched. He blinked away the dizziness that muddled his brain, he was shaking, his grace vibrating uncomfortably, threatening to turn to nausea again, but he kept his eyes on Dean's soul, memorising its every blemish and scar.

The minutes passed in thick silence and the moon shifted in the sky, moving on, away from hope. Eventually, Mary dropped Sam's arm and turned away, tears fell down Sam's face but he didn't otherwise move, not quite yet ready or able to give up. Castiel moved back to the boulder, it wasn't a conscious decision, just a longing, a  _need_. If this was to be Dean's true death, he didn't want the Hunter to think he was alone.

The world tilted beneath him as he stumbled forward but he persevered. When he finally knelt before the boulder, he reached out a hand and placed it on the unyielding stone, closest to where Dean's soul had drifted. He sent out a pulse of grace, the effort left him weak, his fingers slipping on the rock, his arm trembling.

 _You're not alone, Dean_ , he thought,  _I'm here._

Dean's soul looped closer to where his hand rested, and the two almost touched, separated only by stone. Castiel felt a bolt of presence. Warm and comforting. It felt like Dean, it felt like  _home_. In that moment, he knew that if Dean asked him to, if he was capable of asking anything in this disembodied state, he would stay here forever. If he could provide even a small measure of comfort to Dean's soul he would stay until his grace disintegrated, until the poison inside of it took him over completely. Dean would  _not_  be left alone to fade away, the man who had taught him what home meant, what family meant. The man who had accepted him for his flaws and his limitations and still relied on him for help. The man to told him when he was wrong, who trusted him to make the right decision, who made him want to try harder, to be better. The man who had shown him what it was to truly love someone, with every fibre of his being.

The soul didn't ask, and after a few seconds, it floated away from the point of contact, deeper into the main hub of souls, Castiel kept his gaze trained on it, though his eyes had blurred, the feeling of Dean pulled away, getting smaller. It hadn't worked, the radiation that had kept him here was fading, Dean was leaving, to go somewhere Castiel couldn't follow.

"No!" He yelled, slamming his hand down against the hard stone. "No! Dean, come back to me,  _please_! _"_

He didn't know how long he sat there, searching for Dean's soul, the one that was now missing. His cheeks were wet, his insides were numb and that was so much worse than any outburst of emotion. He had lost people before, he had grieved for his siblings and his friends, but it had never felt like this.

"Cas,"

"No." His voice was a void, emotionless and cold, he recognised the voice, it was the voice he had had nine years ago, before he had learned how to question, how to think, before he had learned the wonder of humanity, before he had come to know Dean Winchester.

"Come on Castiel, we have to go."

"I can't."

"Sam, get him up."

Sam's strong arms were surprisingly gentle as they slid under his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. They held him for longer than was strictly necessary, Castiel could feel the understanding in that half-hug.

"I know," Sam murmured, and Castiel knew that it was true, "I'm sorry."

"I never told him."

"You didn't need to." Sam said softly, "it's going to be okay."

"He's  _gone_." Castiel whimpered, fully aware and ashamed at how pathetic he had become, how quickly he had lost his composure; this was just too much, his head was pounding, his grace rebelled inside of him, his legs could barely support him and he would never see Dean's face again. He doubled over, vomiting onto the dirt, Sam cried out in shock and let go, he crumpled like a discarded puppet, his whole body heaving, he felt his grace being expelled, he tasted the foulness of corruption as it left his body, ceasing to be a part of him. He couldn't recall it to himself. The grace that was left was barely enough to keep him fuctional, he knew instinctively that he would not become human when the last of it was gone, he would simply lose himself. His body would forget that it was anything but an inanimate object and his grace would scrape his insides clean and what amounted to his soul and would be burned away. Right now, he couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

Sam's arm was on his back, rubbing gently. Once he was done, Castiel sat back, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet once more.

"I'm sorry," he said, "you're right, we need to go." He hated the dead tone of his voice but ironically, his head was clear despite his wooziness. He needed to see Sam and Mary safely back home, and he would protect them for as long as he could. Dean would have been disgusted with him if he did anything less.

 

***

 

Sam stayed close to Cas as they turned to leave the clearing, in case he fell. The angel's skin was pale and clammy and his eyes had an unfocused, glassy look to them that seemed to be more than just grief. Angels didn't get sick; this was a point Castiel had made every time he or Dean had been laid up with a cold, grumbling good-naturedly while he tended to them, fetching them tissues and heating up tins of soup. Whenever Castiel was ill, something was very wrong. Not that plenty wasn't already wrong. The broken sound of Cas' begging as he pounded on the boulder had shattered the illusion of hope that he had been gripping so tightly to. Castiel would never have given up if there were even the slightest chance to save Dean. Watching the man who was usually so calm and in control lose it like that had twisted his heart and stabbed it home that Dean wouldn't be returning with them. Mary walked ahead of them, her back stiff, resolutely strong. Sam knew that she was waiting for a safe place before she would let herself feel what she needed to; she was like Dean in that way, except that Mary would allow him to help her the way Dean never had. He was perturbed by how functional  _he_  was, but he had spent the better part of the past two days processing his grief, this final blow felt more like closure than anything else.

Suddenly, they were all thrown forwards in a blast of orange light. Sam only just managed to throw his hands out in time to stop himself breaking his nose on the ground, he scrambled to turn over, to find the source. The boulder was glowing. Then, with a sound like an avalanche, it split open, pebbles spilling to the ground. The three of them regained their footing and as one, stared in awe at the supernova of light.

One pebble out of the hundreds that littered the ground began to glow. The light formed a skeleton, then sinew, muscle and organs, tissue and cartilage, threaded through with a map of veins and arteries, then skin and hair and even, inexplicably, clothes.

Dean lay there, eyes closed, looking all the world like he was just midway through a blink while looking up at the stars. Then his eyes snapped open and he gasped. Jumping to his feet, looking down, testing his right arm, confused.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, he was the first to reach his brother, he flung his arms around him, making him stumble backwards at the unexpected force. After a few seconds of bewilderment, Dean returned the hug, slapping him on the back with a half-amused huff,

"Hey, little brother, it's okay Sammy, it's okay." He said, his voice softening as he noticed Sam's desperate grip and the way his shoulders were shaking, Sam didn't care, Dean was back, it had  _worked._ He pulled back and held Dean by his shoulders just to look at him, to take in his face, make sure it was the same. It was.

"Don't you  _ever_  jump of a cliff to avoid getting eaten by a dinosaur again. Do you understand me?" There was no true anger in his voice, only relief, only love. Dean chuckled and the sound wrapped around him like a child's favourite blanket.

"You realise how insane that sounds, right?" He asked, grinning.

Sam huffed, barked a laugh and nodded, pulling Dean in for another quick hug before Mary reached them. As Sam stepped back, Dean turned to her, Sam noticed that she looked a lot more hesitant to believe in this than he had been. Her steps were slow and measured and her eyes were guarded. Sam smiled, her and Dean were so alike in some ways.

"Mom?" Dean whispered, awed. "Jack saved you?" He blinked, "why are you wearing Cas' coat?"

"It's cold," Mary said defensively, "and he did, a while ago now. We've been trying for months to find Kaia, to open up a new portal-"

Dean cut her off, enveloping her in a hug. Something seemed to break and she folded into him.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, so softly that Sam almost couldn't hear. "I thought we'd have to go home without you. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Hey," Dean murmured, " _I'm_ sorry. I gave up on you too. I'm just glad you're okay."

Mary's face was wet with tears when she pulled back. She placed a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over his cheekbone. Dean leaned into the touch. Sam smiled at the sight. Their family was whole again. Well, almost. Mary's hand dropped as Dean's eyes slid behind her, to where Cas was still standing on the edge of the clearing.

Dean stepped around Mary who walked over to stand by Sam instead. He reached for her hand and squeezed, they were both still shaking. Dean's smile turned to a frown as he looked at Cas, Sam couldn't blame him, the angel's face was gaunt and paler than any human had a right to be, let alone an angel, contrasting oddly with his dark hair, which stuck up at odd angles from the wind. He half-leaned against a tree as though he didn't trust his body to support him, and the look on his face was one that Sam couldn't define. Like he had just had to confront something painful, like he was staring directly into the sun and knew he would be blinded, but what he witnessed was worth it.

"Hey buddy," Dean said, as though approaching a frightened dog, "you came."

"I had to bring you home," Cas said, his voice raw and gravelly, Sam didn't think he'd blinked since Dean had solidified, he pushed himself away from the tree, swaying slightly, Sam could tell that it was only sheer force of will keeping him standing. "I had to try."

"Thank you." Dean said solemnly, his own voice imbued with emotion, placing a hand heavily on Castiel's shoulder, "I knew you heard me."

"You're a  _moron_." Castiel said suddenly, "you  _found_  Jack and you didn't call me? Granted you  _would_  have just been calling Asmodeus but still, you should have tried to include me in something so reckless and stupid as travelling to another world. Had I been able, I would have helped, you  _know_  I would have helped."

"Wait, back up a second,  _Asmodeus_?"

Castiel shook his head and smiled, it was a genuine smile, but Sam thought there was something off about it.

"It doesn't matter," he said, glancing over at Sam and Mary, as though asking them not to interfere, Sam exchanged a look with his mother, who shrugged.

"Dammit, I can't even be mad at you. You're alive." Castiel said the last two words with such wonder, like they were the most beautiful and precious descriptive words he could think of.

"You can't be mad at me, huh?" Dean said, huffing a laugh, "damn, Cas, are you okay?"

"Not particularly. But I am still processing, so give me a moment." His look settled back into that familiar intensity, with something deeper under the surface, it was the look he only ever used on Dean. "Let's start this over. Hello Dean, I'm glad you're alive."

"Dork," Dean muttered, using the hand on his shoulder to jerk the angel forwards into a hug. Sam could only see Castiel's face, it was scrunched tight and looked so vulnerable that Sam realised that his friend's current condition, whatever it was, was serious. But for whatever reason, he had chosen to try and hide it from Dean. After a few seconds, Castiel turned his face slightly to bury into Dean's neck.

"Missed you, Cas," Dean breathed, so low that Sam barely caught it. He looked away, worried, hoping that whatever was going on with Cas could be fixed quickly.

Dean then pulled away quickly with a glance over his shoulder as though he had just remembered they weren't alone, as though he was afraid that they would notice something. Sam rolled his eyes when Dean wasn't looking, his brother was always far too jumpy in moments like this, too eager to pull away, so concerned about being judged that he would rather hold in everything he was feeling, no matter what he actually wanted, there was so much that Dean left unspoken because he was being observed and Sam always worried that one day the habit would destroy him. He already burdened himself with so much guilt, he didn't need added regrets too.

Together, they left the boulder with its spilled treasures behind, although Sam insisted on diverting through the Kruger village, giving Dean an abridged explanation and saying that he wanted to say goodbye. Dean rolled his eyes but agreed, tensing as the Krugers approached, clearly fighting the impulse to draw the blade that Sam had handed back to him. The leader grimaced at Dean and raised its hand but Dean shied back. The Kruger nodded instead and withdrew, turning briefly to Cas for what he assumed was a few last-minute questions. Then it placed its palm on Sam's head, Dean like a coiled spring beside him.

 _We are glad he returned_ , it said,  _we wish you well._

Sam repeated the sentiment back and added  _good luck with those other tribes. You know, misunderstandings can be fixed if you can find other ways to communicate_.

The Kruger let out one of those guttural laughs,  _perhaps we will try_. It said with resolve.  _Goodbye._

Then it removed its hand and stepped back, the eyes of all the Krugers that weren't in their homes following them as they left, back in the direction of the beach.

Sam almost wished they could have stayed longer, or at least that they had a way to stay in touch, check in. There was so much more he wanted to learn. But as they reached the river, he felt a peace settle on him. He was glad to be going home.

 

***

 

"Well, this is freaking weird," Dean said as he stared down at his own body, the skin tinged blue with splodges of purple bruises. "Gross. I'm glad I haven't got that busted arm anymore."

"Getting back up on that cliff would have been a bit trickier if you did," Mary agreed. She had been walking almost in step with him the whole time, finding small excuses to touch him, a smudge of dirt on his brow, a stumble that meant their arms brushed. Dean didn't mind, he figured it was a lot to take in, he knew from experience how it didn't feel quite real when someone came back from the dead unexpectedly, contact was needed, proof that they were solid, he understood, he felt it too. He hadn't really been expecting to see her again either. But she looked so small, engulfed in that coat. Dean couldn't help but smirk as Mary stepped into the river, the bottom half of the coat was already ragged, Cas clearly couldn't keep it clean when he wasn't wearing it.

"You're gonna have to do the laundry when we get back, Cas," he joked, nodding at the muddy coat, now getting half a thorough soaking as Mary waded across, the water reaching her waist. Cas smiled at him, though the smile was pained. He'd noticed Cas lagging behind the whole way back here, almost seeming to deliberately keep out of his view as much as possible when he turned his head to check on him.

"Well I'm not going to let you do it," Cas retorted, "you'd probably pour bleach on it or something and completely ruin the fabric."

"Only deliberately." Dean tipped him a wink and the angel huffed a laugh, "come on, you first." They had agreed to cross the river in single file, in a strong current it was the safest option. Sam was already on the other side, waiting for them at the mouth of the cave, Cas hesitated.

"You should go first," he said, "you're only newly resurrected, your muscles might not be at their full capacity. If you should fall I'd rather be able to grab you quickly."

Dean raised an eyebrow, the response was too quick, too well-reasoned, even by Cas' standards. But he shook his head and began to cross the river anyway. The current was pretty strong and at its highest point the water came up to his hips. It was shockingly cold. But Dean was in a pretty good mood and the water was rejuvenating. He actually stopped to splash some on his face. He caught Sam rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Then, when he was almost at the beach on the other side, he heard a splash. He glanced back to find Cas on his knees in the water, which now reached his neck. His hair was plastered to his head, he had clearly been fully submerged for a second in his fall. Dean ran back to him, or, shuffled as quickly as he could, Cas had only been a third of the way through the river although Dean was sure he had heard his feet hit the water only a few seconds after his own. Cas was halfway to standing by the time Dean got there, though he seemed to be struggling against the current. That was definitely weird, Cas should have been able to coast through this thing.

"There was a-uh some weed," Cas said by way of an explanation when Dean reached him and grabbed his arm to steady him, pulling him up the rest of the way, "my foot got tangled,"

Dean frowned. "Don't lie to me Cas, you made me watch too much Attenborough. Weed won't take root properly in a current like this."

Cas' wide eyes looked like a rabbit in headlights.

"I wasn't aware I had to defend my clumsiness," Cas said, defensively, walking on, his steps slow and shuffling as he swayed, buffeted by the current.

"You didn't. Clearly  _you_  felt like you had to. So what's up? You're acting weird."

"Can we not have this conversation in the middle of a river? You're going to catch a cold."

"At least I'm not going to  _drown_." Dean called after him as he started wading again.

"I can't drown, Dean, I don't need to breathe." Cas replied.

Dean grumbled, noting Cas' unnaturally straight posture, the way he dipped every so often as though he had briefly lost his footing. Cas was hiding something. But he made a good point, perhaps the middle of a river was not the best place to talk. The water was  _very_  cold, and the air was barely warmer. He was shivering by the time he reached the other side, Mary immediately gave him Cas' coat. Insisting he put it on, it was the only reasonably warm piece of clothing between them.

He felt ridiculous, but it  _was_  warmer than just his flannel. Sam smirked and turned away quickly, Mary nodded satisfied, noticing his shivering recede. It smelled pretty good too. Like the crackle of electricity after a lightning storm and heavy rainfall on earth. Cas leaned against the rock wall of the tunnel casually, waiting for the others. But his eyes softened when they looked at him in the trench-coat. It was a strange look, and Dean couldn't pinpoint the emotion behind it exactly, amused probably, the coat definitely did  _not_  suit him. Give him a good old flannel any day, far more manoeuvrability. He flapped the arms experimentally and grimaced but strode past Cas into the tunnel, patting him on the shoulder as he did so.

They got to the rocky outcropping without incident although when they emerged, the chill wind hitting them after the calm tunnel, Dean swallowed hard and refused to look down. The trench-coat whipped around him and he closed his eyes for a second, trying to dispel the nausea, although there was something behind it too, something that he never usually felt when he was up this high; a sense of power that he was pretty sure came from the smell of lightning clinging to the coat, he wondered if that was how Cas felt during a storm, he often found excuses to go out in them, something that Dean had never really understood, just putting down to one of Cas' quirks.

He turned back to face the cliff wall and watched as Sam easily pulled himself up. Beanpole. Dean gave Mary a boost and she grabbed Sam's outstretched hand, then, as though jumpy at the thought of being alone with Dean in case he tried to talk to him again, Cas went next, although he refused the offer of a boost. He jumped instead, grabbing hold of Sam and allowing himself to be hauled up, although when Cas placed his own arm on the cliff top to push himself further over, Dean thought he noticed a tremble in the angel's arm, but it could just have been a trick of the light.

Dean shook himself and took his own leap of faith, Sam making a few wisecracks about how heavy he'd gotten before he too was safely on top of the cliff. He subtly shuffled away from the edge before getting to his feet, but took one last look at the view. It wasn't half bad. Trees stretched for miles, cut through by slices of rivers and clearings. The sun was only just peeking out over the horizon, the sky a pale blue-grey. He felt a bittersweet kind of goodbye welling in his chest. He wouldn't miss this place, not exactly. Especially not this cliff, but the world itself had been a respite for a time. Hunting and killing, no need to think. It probably wasn't healthy but he could think of worse things than a life like that, just surviving, no need to worry about the state of the world at large, just your own little pocket and how you could keep on chugging. The others reached him and they headed back into the forest, Cas taking the lead. He and Jack were talking through prayer, apparently, Cas could follow that pretty easily, especially with the portal open.

About half an hour later, Dean noticed Castiel's ramrod straight posture and frowned.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked, loudly. He ignored the look that Sam and Mary shot at each other. Cas stopped and turned, there was a slight sheen of moisture to his brow and he cleared his throat before replying,

"Jack thinks the portal is getting smaller," he said grimly, we're still a few hours away, we should hurry."

"Well alrighty then, let's hustle," Dean said, quickening his pace to walk next to the angel. Sam and Mary hurried too, although they lagged a little behind, Sam clearly choosing to keep Mary company rather than lengthening his stride. Cas' posture didn't change and his pace didn't waver, but there was a sheen of dampness to his face that Dean wasn't sure could be blamed on his recent dip in the river, he was also paler than usual, and he seemed to be struggling with the punishing pace he set.

"What was that you said about Asmodeus before?" Dean asked quietly, "what's he got to do with anything?"

Cas sighed, "that's where I've been for the past few months," he said, "after I left to find Jack, Lucifer showed up, having escaped apocalypse world with a fraction of his grace, he's back at the bunker now, in the dungeon by the way, and Asmodeus tracked him while we were talking and he captured the both of us. Any calls you received, all except the first, were from him, imitating my voice."

Dean glanced over at Cas, frowning, "what did he do to you?" he demanded.

"It's a long story,"

"Yeah? Well we've got some time to kill,"

"No," Cas said, "we really don't. We shouldn't waste our strength on discourse. When we're back on Earth, I'll explain everything."

"That's bull," Dean said, "and since when did you and Lucifer  _talk_? He  _killed_  you. Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid?"

"Trust me, I was wary," Cas said, sounding tired, "but when we get back I think you should hear him out. It seems that the Michael of that world is using their Kevin to try and break through to ours. It's a whole thing."

"Right." Dean said sarcastically. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, Cas seemed glad. Dean was just playing his words over and over in his head.

"So Asmodeus was calling us, pretending to be you, and I fell for it?" Dean said. Cas' mouth was a thin line as he nodded.

"How did I not realise?" The question was directed mostly at himself, but Cas answered him anyway.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. Asmodeus was very convincing."

"Yeah, but he wasn't  _you_."

Cas turned to look at him, surprised. "You weren't to know."

"I've known you for nearly a decade, I should be able to tell when it's a fake. Like when Lucifer possessed you, I knew something was wrong but I just didn't know what until Sam told me."

"Stop." Cas said exasperated, "You can't blame yourself for Asmodeus' plan. Even if you  _had_  guessed that something was off, would you have stopped your search for Jack? The answer to that should be 'no' by the way," he added with a stern look, "you had another mission, you didn't need to worry about me."

"I  _always_  worry about you, Cas!" Dean burst out. "When you go off on your own on some noble calling I always worry. You're family. You know that."

Cas said nothing and Dean fumed silently. Not that Cas really could have done anything different, but he hated when the angel tried to act as though he was separate from them, like he wasn't really part of their team. That wasn't how Dean felt at all. Sometimes, Dean felt like Cas was the only person who truly knew him. He had seen that wretched creature down in Hell and he had saved him anyway. And he hadn't left, although he knew that a part of Dean was still that creature, would always  _be_  that creature, he had stayed. And that meant something, at least to him.

But when he glanced at Cas' face, the expression there was so sad, so lonely and so bittersweet that Dean felt his anger change, it was still there, but it simmered more to concern, and at that moment, Dean wanted to  _help_  his friend rather than yell at him. He shrugged off the coat and held it out as they walked, repressing a shiver. Cas looked over, frowning,

"I don't feel the temperature, you need it more."

Dean shrugged, "you look weird without it."

Cas' lips twitched in a smile and he accepted the coat, slipping it on and fixing the collar where Dean had had it turned up against the wind. As he smoothed the fabric down Dean nodded appreciatively.

"Better." He said.

Cas grinned at him, and his stride was a little stronger after that.

 

***

 

Castiel grimaced with the effort of maintaining his place at the front, he was very carefully trying to keep placing one foot in front of the other without looking like he was concentrating at all. The coat helped hide the occasional tremor that would sweep through him, though it did nothing for the nausea, which was building again. He forced it down, he wouldn't lose control in front of Dean, he didn't want the Hunter to see him like that. He didn't really have a plan for when they got back to the bunker but he knew he didn't have much time left. Over half his grace had already been vomited up and he knew he would have to rid himself of more soon. His eyes both wouldn't focus and seemed too sharp at the same time.

He navigated mostly by sound, keeping a constant stream of chatter with Jack that would only occasionally fade out or flicker in clarity. Castiel blamed the shrinking portal, he blamed the distance between universes and Jack seemed to accept these answers, but Castiel knew that it was him. His remaining grace was barely able to keep the connection open and he knew that if one of the others were to injure themselves now, healing them might shut down his ability to hear prayers completely. But they were getting closer, they were almost there, Jack said that the portal looked very small now, but suddenly it was in front of them.

Castiel almost sagged in relief as he saw the golden light of the portal. Dean let out a whoop and raced forward, laughing about how he was going to raid the kitchen, Mary followed with a bemused sort of affection, like she couldn't quite believe they'd made it. Sam hung back for a second, touching Cas' elbow to stop him.

"You need to tell him Cas" he said, "and you need to tell him soon,"

"Tell him what?" Castiel asked defensively.

"That you're dying." Sam's eyes were sad and concerned. "You need to tell him so that we can find a way to fix it, together. Lying to him and sneaking around will take time I'm pretty sure you don't have. And I won't watch him lose you again. I can't. So you need to tell him, as soon as we get back, okay?"

"I-" Cas didn't know what to say, he was overwhelmed, he often forgot just how observant the younger Winchester could be, "I don't know how, Sam. There might not be time to fix it. We might be talking  _days_. If I tell Dean and it turns out I can't be saved, he'll blame himself."

"You think it won't destroy him to know that the last thing you did was  _lie_  to him?" Sam's voice was harsh but his eyes were kind. "Does Jack know?"

Cas shook his head, "it was Asmodeus' last act, specifically to make Jack suffer."

"Cas," Sam said, exasperated, "you can't keep doing this. You're  _important_  to us, okay? We  _care_  what happens to you and we want to help. You have to let us."

"But-"

"-Come on." Sam took him by the elbow and steered him through the portal, where the other were waiting, Dean looking antsy. As soon as they stepped onto the wooden table, however, Dean nodded and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

A few seconds later the portal vanished and the group in the war room dispersed. Mary left to take Kaia to Jody's. Jack wanted to catch up with Sam and Castiel stood alone in the war room. He slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs and sighed, willing the nausea to vanish.

His grace swirled inside him, there was far too little of it, even a basic healing would use more than he could afford. And who knew what it might take with it. He had no excess grace to spare, anything he lost now would contain something important, memories perhaps, or his ability to manifest his wings, or his knowledge on how to use his vessel. He contemplated that for a moment. Would he leave the vessel before dying, he wondered, or would he remain until the last second? He would seek freedom, he decided after a moment. It would be nice to feel a true angel again, if only briefly.

Dean shook him out of his morbid thoughts, planting a beer on the table in front of him.

"Of course, the first thing you do after living in a forest for months is find alcohol," Castiel said sternly,

"Shut up, Kaia ate all the chips so I had to make do. I'll make us all a proper dinner later, vegetables and everything, happy?"

"We're home." Castiel said, leaning back in his chair. "Everything's alright."

"Liar." Dean tapped his beer against the one he had brought for the angel, "drink up and talk to me."

Castiel took the bottle but didn't drink, he wouldn't be able to burn it from his system and he didn't think that something even mildly carbonated would help with his already peaking nausea, then he thought on Sam's words and placed the beer back on the table. He looked at Dean for a moment, his face was worried, open, like it rarely was. He just wanted to  _know_. He had earned that much at least. Even if it made him angry and throw things. Sam was right, it wasn't fair to keep him in the dark about this. If the roles were reversed, Castiel never would have forgiven Dean for the lie.

"While I was in Hell, Asmodeus implanted a sliver of his self into my grace." Castiel began, returning his gaze to the beer bottle, "Lucifer explained that it meant he could use me as a spy, see into my mind, all my thoughts and memories, every prayer you sent," he glanced at Dean then, ashamed at the breach in privacy that Dean hadn't even known about, "Asmodeus could see and hear it all. Which didn't gain him much until he let me go. Without me realising, it had grown, and rooted itself inside my grace so that it could actually control my actions. It led me to find Jack, to forget about the reasons why I shouldn't and Asmodeus had me trap him in a circle of holy fire." The words were bitter on his tongue. "I betrayed him and I put him in danger. The boy I'd sworn to protect." He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"The kid seems fine." Dean said, his eyes boring holes into the side of Castiel's face, "I'm asking what happened to  _you_?"

"Jack defeated Asmodeus. Probably killed him although I'm not certain. But before his influence left me it… well, it seems to have poisoned my grace." He forced himself to meet Dean's eyes at that, they were wide with horror. Castiel smiled softly at him, "I've been ill for the past few days, losing my grace. There isn't much left now and the next time I expel it, it's likely to take parts of me too. All I have left is what's keeping me able to move and think. Beyond that… I'm useless."

Dean's face had set into something akin to anger, but Castiel saw beyond that, he saw the fear and the pain and he hated that he was the cause.

"You're telling me you're dying?" Dean's voice shook.

"I'm being… erased from existence." Castiel said. He didn't need to say it. It wasn't kind to say it. But it was true, and now wasn't the time for lies. "I won't go back to the Empty, or to Heaven or Hell, I'll just be gone."

"How long?"

"I don't know. I might be able to hold it off for a few days but…" he trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.

"Dammit." Dean said with quiet intensity, standing, his chair falling backwards with a clatter, then again, louder, "DAMMIT!"

"Dean-"

Dean leaned towards him, a threatening finger pointed at his face,

"No, Cas. We are going to f _ix_  this okay? I  _just_  got you back. I can't go back to that place."

Castiel frowned, confused, "Dean, my illness has nothing to do with that universe. You don't ever have to go back."

"That's not what I meant." Dean closed his eyes for a moment. "I won't lose you again, okay? I need you."

The words sent a trickle of warmth down Castiel's spine. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, watching Dean care. The way his jaw clenched and his throat bobbed with words held back, either angry or painful, he would never know. The way his green eyes blazed with passion, with fear and righteousness, exposing the soul beneath. Castiel's breath caught with the sight and he felt his own throat tighten. He was sorry to have caused that expression, but it meant so much that Dean thought him worthy of it.

"Right." Dean said, straightening up, "let's go deal with the Devil."

 

***

 

"Dean," Cas' voice called after him as he strode out of the war room, but he ignored it, he heard a muffled curse and the sound of a chair toppling over as Cas scrambled to follow him but weakened as he was, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to catch up. He burst through the dungeon doors, and shut them behind him, sealing himself in with Lucifer. The archangel raised an eyebrow as he leaned casually against the wall.

"I'd say I was glad to see you but we both know-"

"-I hear you want something from us," Dean said, cutting him off. "I hear it's big, apocalypse big."

"Uh, yeah?" Lucifer said, seeming unsettled by whatever he saw on Dean's face, "so here's the thing, Mich-"

"I'm thinking we're gonna sit this one out." Dean said, casually, "I really don't need to hear the brief."

Lucifer gaped at him.

"You?" he said, " _you_  are gonna sit back and let the world burn?"

Dean shrugged.

"Why?" Lucifer asked, tone suspicious, "I thought you cared about this dirt-ball."

Dean half-smiled, it was a humourless thing.

"Because I don't have a single goddamned reason to help you."

"Saving the world isn't reason enough? All those humans? Screaming, fire, war?"

"Been there," Dean said, "done that." He kept his voice calm, measured. "This particular mess has nothing to do with me."

"Listen kid, you don't seem to be understanding me here-" He was cut off once more as Dean slammed him to the wall, arm hard against his windpipe.

"Call me 'kid' again, go on, I  _dare_  you." He growled. Then, smirking at the choking sound Lucifer made instead, he dropped him. Lucifer rubbed his neck.

"Jeez," he said, "what crawled up your ass?"

"Your favourite freak did something to Cas, and you're gonna tell me how to fix it. Otherwise, I'mma carve me up an archangel." Dean slowly slid the blade out of his belt, "I hear you're powered down."

"Not  _that_  much, sunshine." Lucifer said, "I'm still a warrior."

"And I'm still what Alastair made me." Dean said, his voice low and dangerous. He noticed with satisfaction the flicker of fear behind those normally amused eyes, this wasn't the game Lucifer was used to playing.

"If your angel croaks, slicing me open won't bring him back."

"No," Dean said, then he smiled, "but  _damn_  will it be fun." He let himself think back to all he had learned in Hell, under Alastair's command, under his knife. He remembered the parts he didn't like to think about, the parts where he hadn't been screaming but laughing, the parts where he had  _loved_  what he was doing. He let those parts show now.

Lucifer smirked, though it was fleeting.

"I'm loving the theatrics Dean, but they really aren't necessary. I'll help you if I can. I mean… quid pro quo I guess. I help you with Castiel and you follow that little hero complex of yours and help me save the planet, deal?"

"When you've done your part I'll consider it." Dean said.

"Great. So what are his symptoms?"

"He's sick. He says he's losing his grace." He forced his voice to remain even, emotionless.

Cas' pale face swam in his vision, the way he had tried to hide his shivers, the way his walking had been too stiff, concealing the weakness of his legs. The look on his face when Dean had entered the war room, already so distant, so  _accepting_.

"So Asmodeus poisoned his grace. Nasty."

"How do we fix him?"

Lucifer shook his head thoughtfully, "Grace is hardy stuff, Dean. It's hard to truly damage, and all superficial scrapes heal quickly, it also normally only takes seconds, a few minutes at most to almost completely replenish itself if it's used to extremes."

Dean waited, arms folded, his teeth clenched together.

"But one of the gifts I gave Asmodeus was a substance to turn a grace against itself and the angel it belonged to. To merge the two together, and cause it to rot. You see, angels  _aren't_  their grace. Their grace is most powerful and effective when used by them, true, and using another's grace feels… pretty gross. But if an angel loses their grace, even if it's destroyed, they merely become human. The spark of  _them_  lives on. Not quite a  _soul_ , but similar. But Castiel can probably feel what's happening by now. He's not just losing his grace, he's losing  _himself_. It was an experimental poison I'd planned on using on Michael at one point. But I never did and decided to pass it on instead. I'd apologise but…" he shrugged, "C'est la vie."

"And the cure?"

"Never tested, only theorised. You need to separate his self from his grace. The poison will burn out the grace but if the  _self_  is intact then Castiel will live. He'll be  _human_  but he'll live. As long as the self is  _intact_. There's no way to restore any memories or powers that he's lost."

"Not good enough." Dean growled, "how do we save the grace too?"

"You can't." Lucifer said, simply. "Unless you can separate some untainted grace from the poisoned stuff. But you won't find any. The poison spreads quickly. There's nothing pure angel about Castiel now." he huffed, "but I guess it's been like that for a while now, hasn't it?"

Dean's blood turned to ice in his veins. Cas would be human? Why did that thought disturb him so much? Cas hadn't  _minded_  being a human so much, had he? He had done well, finding himself a job, helping him on that case. And he would actually be  _with_ them this time. Dean still felt guilt churning in his gut whenever he thought about the look on Cas' face when he had told him he couldn't stay. Human was better than dead. But it was also a major, and  _permanent_  step down from angel and Dean didn't wanna put his friend through that if there was another option.

"So how do we go about separating it?" He asked, keeping his face neutral.

"Well, you're probably gonna need my son."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go, the curveball I ran into. I can't wrap things up until we know what's going on with Cas, right?
> 
> What do you think? All feedback is love.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last, the final chapter.
> 
> This fic has driven me to near-insanity with the mount of extra stuff that I wasn't planning for and the sheer time and effort it took. This is the longest fanfic I've ever written, possibly the longest continuous piece of writing I've ever written. I know that there are way longer fics out there but still, this one's mine.
> 
> Although this monster fic isn't even close to one of my most popular, It has been by far one of the most intense. What with starting a full time job and moving halfway across the country, I've barely had time to do anything outside of work except write because I felt like I needed to get it done before the end of hiatus (which I failed to do) or at least before Cas comes back.
> 
> I've learned a lot while writing this, about world-building and character development and even about simple grammar (which I probably should already know but don't).
> 
> Sorry for the pre-fic essay but I wanted to thank all of you so much for reading this, your feedback and reviews have been glowing and kept my heart warm and my brain motivated. I really might have given up of this flop if it hadn't been for getting the right comments at the right moments. So thank you all for sticking with this weird and tangential story, it really has meant so much to me.
> 
> Now, onward!
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Dean left the dungeon to see Cas leaning against the wall; there was nothing casual about it now, it was clear it was taking everything he had to remain standing, but he still managed to muster up a scowl for Dean as he emerged.

"What did you do?" he growled immediately.

"I heard him out, like you told me to." Dean said, "We made a deal."

Cas' eyes closed for a long moment, as though this was exactly what he had been expecting, and dreading.

"What kind of a deal?" he asked, his rough voice shaking. Dean didn't stop walking, although he did slow his pace, Cas turned and hurried to keep up. "Dean!"

"I'll help him with the whole evil Michael thing if he helps you." Dean said, "it's that simple. Relax, you look like you've just given yourself a hernia."

"That's it? You're sure?" Cas' breathing was laboured. Dean rolled his eyes, not at his friend's suffering but at his concern.

"Yep. So we get you fixed up and then we go save the world. Like we were probably gonna end up doing anyway."

"It can't be that simple. Dean, it's  _never_  that simple."

"Come on, let's get you sat down before you fall over."

"I'm fine." Cas insisted, pushing himself up to his full six foot. Though Dean saw his clenched hands trembling. "What's the catch?"

He looked so determined, so damn worried that Dean sighed.

"The  _catch_ …" he said, his hands going to his pockets. Those piercing blue eyes were on him, looking  _through_  him; Dean looked away, ashamed. "We won't be able to save your grace. You're gonna end up human."

"Human?" Cas repeated after a moment, his voice far too small for someone who once claimed to be the size of the Chrysler Building.

"Yeah." Dean shuffled his feet uncomfortably, feeling like a failure, like a  _liar_. "But you know,  _you_  should still be all there, I mean… you are still… all there, right?"

"I still have all of my memories." Cas confirmed.

"Would you know if you didn't?" Dean said, only half-joking.

Cas huffed a laugh, "everything I remember is continuous, there aren't any gaps. Eidetic memory, it's one of the perks of-" he stopped suddenly, his smirk faltering.

Dean's forced smile slipped off his face entirely,  _one of the perks of being an angel_ , Cas had almost said. Well, he could kiss that photographic memory goodbye, along with his wings and his powers and his halo. If he even had one of those, he'd never actually asked.

"Right. Well… let's keep it that way. Come on, let's go find Jack."

Cas grimaced, "I should probably talk to him first," he said, "I should explain what's happening and give him some advice… just in case."

"Hey," Dean said sharply, the words slicing through him, "don't talk like that. You're gonna be fine."

"Regardless, I should talk to Jack alone."

Dean scowled but nodded, taking Cas by the elbow, ignoring his bluster about being able to manage on his own. Dean was glad he had because they hadn't gone five steps before Cas was leaning more weight into him than should be needed.

Cas pulled away from him quickly when they got to the door of the rec room, as though embarrassed to be seen standing so close to Dean. Then, he opened the door, speaking softly.

Sam joined him in the corridor a minute later. Dean leaned against the wall, his arm feeling strangely cold now that it wasn't being used as a support beam. Sam adopted a similar position opposite.

There was a very tense pause.

"He doesn't look good." Dean said after a moment.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So what's the plan?"

Dean recited his conversation with Lucifer. Mostly. Sam hid his reaction reasonably well, despite a tensing in his shoulders.

"It sounds like a good deal," he said eventually,

"As long as it works."

"And if it doesn't?"

A ringing silence fell.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, trying to keep his breathing even.

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm just saying. This deal sounds  _too_  good to be true, and with Lucifer involved it probably is." He met Dean's eyes, "we really don't know what we're getting ourselves into here." He said, "what if Lucifer's plan is crap? What if it just kills Cas outright? Or uses him to get his own powers back? Lucifer has never missed an opportunity to screw us over, and Cas like this? It's a pretty big opportunity. Even if he  _is_  telling the truth, a lot can still go wrong. Cas might lose more of his grace before we can get this done, or Jack might make a mistake. He's gonna be messing around with Cas' grace, that  _has_  to be dangerous."

Nightmare scenarios flashed through Dean's mind, Cas, human and weak, staring at Dean like he was a stranger, Cas, babbling and incoherent, unable to understand, Cas, realising that he had no reason to stay with them and leaving for good. Cas' body sprawled on the ground.

"What else can we do?" Dean snapped, trying to force his focus away from those images, "if you have a better idea, now would be a great time to mention it." He didn't wait for silence to fall before he barrelled on, "I hate it too, Sam, but Lucifer's all we've got. He's the only one who knows anything about the poison and how to reverse it."

"And even  _he_  said it's all theoretical!" Sam argued in exasperation, "since when was Lucifer less than one hundred percent confident about  _anything_?"

"He's probably just trying to cover his ass in case it doesn't work." Dean retorted, "not that that would save it," he added under his breath.

"I just don't think we should risk Jack like this." Sam said quietly, "if something goes wrong, who knows what that will do to him? Dodge wasn't so long ago and creating a rift between us and Jack would be the perfect way for Lucifer to try and manipulate him."

"You think he could just stand back and watch Cas die instead?" Dean hissed, "you think  _that_  won't screw him up?"

Sam sighed, "I don't really think there are any good options here."

"We  _have_  to save him, Sam," Dean said after a moment, his chest squeezing uncomfortably, "we have to try."

"I know." Sam sounded defeated. "I just wanted to enjoy being home for a while, you know?"

Dean huffed a laugh, though it felt tight in his throat and hurt coming out. There was no joy to it at all.

"You and me both," he said. "Look, when they're done in there, take Jack to the dungeon, okay? Lucifer's the only one who can actually explain to the kid what needs doing and I don't want the Devil wandering about the bunker. I'll take Cas to his room and when Jack's ready, he can meet us there."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, Dean, shouldn't you be the one in there with Lucifer? I mean, you're the one that might actually be able to intimidate him into playing nice, not me."

Dean studied his brother's face. There was fear in those eyes, a fear that went all the way down to his core. Dean knew that fear. It was the same fear he felt when he thought about Alastair, and, although he would never admit it, when he thought about his father. Putting Sam in this position went against every instinct in his body. Lucifer couldn't hurt Sam, powered down as he was, he glanced at the door, behind which Cas was breaking the news to Jack. He could picture it; Cas and Jack sitting very close on those uncomfortable wooden chairs that Dean hadn't gotten around to chucking out yet, heads together, voices low. Cas' eyes round and intense, willing Jack to understand, applying all of his attention to the kid's every move, patiently answering any questions, refusing to let Jack see how sick he was, preferring to explain it with words as softly as possible. Dean tore his eyes away from the door, back to his brother and straightened up.

"I just thought that Jack could use a friendlier face in there with him," he said, "but if you need me to, I will." He wouldn't blame Sam if he did, had their positions been reversed, he might have taken the out too. It tore at his insides but he understood.

Sam visibly wilted in relief.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I just… I don't think I can face him alone."

"It's okay Sammy," Dean said, although he couldn't quite meet his brother's eyes as he said it. "You keep an eye on him though, yeah?"

Sam nodded, looking ashamed.

At that moment, the door opened and Jack emerged, looking pale and worried.

"You ready, kid?" Dean asked.

The boy nodded but Dean didn't notice, his eyes sliding past Jack to Cas who had somehow lost even more colour in his face and was visibly shaking, apparently with the effort of being upright.

He quirked his lips as he saw Dean looking and made to stand but his legs gave out underneath him. Dean watched it happen as if in slow motion. Shoving Jack aside into Sam, Dean almost ran forward to catch him before he hit the floor. He had just managed to grab Cas by the arm when the angel began to puke. Blue-white grace spewed from his lips, splattering onto the worn rug and the stone floor. Dean watched, horrified, as the glowing puddles of grace began to blacken and smoke, leaving a smell of burned leaves and the tingle of electricity. Like lightning hitting a forest floor.

"Hey, it's okay buddy, I got you," Dean said, taking a firmer hold of Cas' arm, "We're gonna get you to your room and then Jack's gonna fix you up, okay? There wasn't anything important in there, right? Cas?"

But Cas had become completely dead weight, slumping forward, dragging Dean down too now that he was no longer even trying to hold himself up.

"Cas!?" Dean's voice cracked on the word. He rolled the angel over, half into his own lap. Cas' eyes were wide and staring. He wasn't breathing. Instead of the usual thrum of power there was only the faintest of flutters. Cas didn't blink or give any indication he had heard Dean at all. "Cas?" Apparently the angel's name was the only word left to him, he didn't know what to do, he shook Cas by the shoulders, hoping to get some kind of response, nothing. So Dean did what he always did when he felt lost, he looked to Sam.

Sam was staring at Cas, expression shocked and grim, his hands resting on Jack's shoulders protectively. He met Dean's eyes and shook his head, suddenly fearful, but resolved.

"Come on, Jack," Sam said, "we need to go and talk to Lucifer."

"He's not breathing," Jack said, not taking his eyes away from the still figure of the man he called father.

"He's an angel, he doesn't need to breathe." Sam reassured him. "He just… he's just forgotten how to move for the moment or something. He'll be okay."

"Sammy," Dean hated the sound of the word that left his throat, it sounded scorched and small. He tried to put all of his gratitude, all of his apologies into his brother's name. Sam just smiled at him briefly, to let him know that he understood.

"It's okay, Dean. We've got this. You just get Cas somewhere comfortable, okay?"

Dean nodded mutely and watched as Sam guided Jack out. Then he moved his arms under Cas' own and heaved, somehow managing to get to his own feet as he did so. Avoiding the new scorch marks as best he could, he began dragging Cas towards the door. When that only made his back hurt with very little progress, Dean slipped one arm under the angel's knees and lifted him. He was heavy, full adult man heavy, but Dean had carried his body like this before so he knew he was physically capable. His steps were almost as heavy as they had been on that day too, his brain working sluggishly. He didn't know what to do, what to think. It might have been seconds or hours by the time he laid Cas on his bed. Then reconsidered and propped him up against the headboard. He was still alive, he wouldn't treat his friend like a corpse. Dean fluffed the pillows and gently rested Cas' head back. Then he sat on a chair next to the bed, staring at the angel.

"What did you  _lose_ , Cas?" Dean asked him. "I don't know what to do here. Should I close your eyes? Did you ever even  _need_  to blink? I swear you won every staring contest you've ever had, and you and Charlie did that  _all the time_. I think she just wanted to see how long you could go for. Remember that time I walked in on you two and startled her into losing? God, she was so pissed." Dean smiled fondly at the memory. Then he looked into his friends' blank eyes once more. "Do you remember that, Cas? Or… or anything? Can you even hear me?"

Cas didn't even twitch. There was no flicker of recognition in those sightless eyes. Dean's throat felt tight. He closed his own eyes for a moment, his mind was in turmoil. He couldn't control his breathing.

"We  _just_  got back, man." Dean said, he wasn't sure why he was still talking when he knew no one could hear him, he just didn't know what else to do, "we just got  _home_. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why can't I have just one good thing?"

No reply came. Dean swallowed hard, his eyes pricked with emotion. He was completely overwhelmed, it had been a hell of a long day. "Cas, I-" he began again. The silence that fell when he stopped talking was far worse than the broken thing that was his voice, "I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm sorry." He passed a hand over his face and sniffed. "I can't even be pissed that you didn't tell me the second I came back, we might have been able to get out in front of this thing. As it is, well… at least this time I get the chance to say goodbye, right?"

He knew that there was no going back now. Whatever Cas had lost couldn't be returned, Lucifer had warned him as much. So, what? Was Cas just gonna be a mannequin for the rest of eternity? The warrior of God, guardian to the Winchesters, Angel of the Lord, the Seraphim with fire in his eyes, reduced to this? The man who loved bumblebees and David Attenborough, who was apparently as tall as the Chrysler Building, who couldn't hold a badge the right way up or tie a tie properly; the powerful being who had decimated Heaven trying to be God, who had pulled him from Hell, who had bled and died and suffered for  _them_. The man who was terrified he wasn't good enough, who kept trying to prove himself, the angel who desperately wanted to fix what he could; how could that person spend forever as nothing more than a shell?

Dean glanced at the closed door and made one of the hardest decisions of his life.

"Cas, if you can hear me. God, I hope you can hear me. This is a prayer too, okay? So even if your ears don't work, if there's any of you left at all, you should be able to hear me, right?" The words flitted around his mind for a moment before melting away, and it felt the same way it always felt when he prayed to Cas. That reassured him. "When Jack gets back, he's gonna try and fix you. And I won't stop him, I can't. Even if I had the right words, I wouldn't use them 'cause that's just not me. I can't give up on you, I'm not capable of that." He took a deep, shuddering breath and felt a tear slip from his eye. "But you know what you're going through better than me.  _You_ know who you are right now. Even if that isn't who  _I_ know. When Jack tries this thing, if it  _works_  you become human. But we can't fix what you've already lost. You might be human, like this. Unable to move or talk or blink or wipe your own ass for the next forty years or whatever. So this is me giving you a choice. If you want, we can still do this. We can make you human and you can stay here and we can try to find a way to at least get you able to move again. Or…"

Dean's heart thumped painfully in his throat as he said the next words, head bowed. He couldn't look Cas in the eyes, and it wasn't completely because it hurt to see nothing behind them.

"Or you can take what's left of your grace and leave. I didn't tell you this part, or Sam, because I didn't want it to be an option, because I thought we could fix it ourselves, like we do everything. Lucifer said that you can heal on your own. But not if you're tied to a vessel. The poison takes centuries to completely wear off. If you take a vessel within that time, even if there's only a tiny bit left in your system, you'll end up back like this." Dean gestured at the prone figure, eyes still averted. "But you could completely heal. He said that your self would heal too and you'd be back to  _you_ , no matter what you lost down here. Like a cycle of your grace healing yourself and then you healing your grace, I dunno, he got a bit technical and I didn't know what the hell any of it meant." Dean let out a strained chuckle. "Anyway, doesn't matter. The point is, Cas, you can get better. You'll be okay."

He wiped his fingers across his cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I should have. It was stupid and selfish of me not to. I guess I've always been selfish when it comes to stuff like this, I'm not so good at letting go, you know? But seeing you like this… If I know you at all, I know that this isn't what you want. You hate being stuck anywhere. You need  _freedom_  Cas. You should go. I don't know how it's gonna work with your wings being hurt and all but if you just give up your vessel and stick around for Jack, he might be able to help with that somehow. If anyone can, it's him, right? And don't feel bad. You're not abandoning us, Cas, you're doing what you need to do. You're looking out for yourself for once, that's not a bad thing. You could go back to watching the bees. You liked that, right? Or you could go somewhere far away, get out of all this craziness and travel, healing people. You could be the angel you always wanted to be, Cas. The one you never got a chance to be. And don't you worry about Jack or me and Sammy. We'll be okay."

That last part was a lie,  _he_  wouldn't be okay, not for a long while. But it was better than watching Cas die without letting him choose for himself.

"Jack and Sam shouldn't be too long now, you're gonna need to do this fast." Dean said, very aware of how long he'd been talking. "I can't say goodbye again, Cas. I just can't. Especially if I know you're still gonna be out there, and you're gonna be happy. 'cause if anyone deserves that it's you. You've done so much for us Cas, more than you should've, more than I deserved. So I can't say goodbye. But if me and Sammy make it to Heaven in the end, when that poison's out of your system, you should stop by. If you want. 'Cause re-living memories of you just won't be the same."

Dean pressed his lips together and finally looked into Cas' face. Panic and resolve warring for control inside him. It was time. It was his last chance. He opened his mouth but his throat closed around the words, so he cleared it and tried another way.

"I'll miss you, man. It's been a hell of a ride but you stuck with us. And that means something, Cas, it means a lot. Sometimes you were the only person I could talk to. The only person who  _saw_  me. You know who I am,  _what_  I am. You know what I became in Hell. You know what I've done. And you  _stayed_. Even though you didn't have to, and if you ever left, you always came back, even when I was a dick about it. Sam's the only other person who's done that but even he wouldn't have… How are you still here when you've seen my soul? I could never hide anything from you, Cas, and that's freaking terrifying. But I never scared you away. Even when I  _tried_  to. So… thanks. Thank you. You gave me something to count on and… I'll owe you forever."

He stopped there. There was nothing else to say. If Cas was listening, he'd hear the words left unspoken. He'd know what they meant. He always knew what Dean meant. But he just couldn't say it aloud. Saying it made it real, and if it was real then it could be lost. It was an understanding between them that neither acknowledged the unspoken words. Even though it hurt like a bitch.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas'. Even going so far as to place a hand on his shoulder. He waited for something to happen, like glowing vapour to leave Cas' mouth and curl upwards perhaps. Nothing happened.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said, "I know I said this was a choice but really? You  _can't_  want this. Half an hour ago you  _hated_  the idea of being human again. And being human like  _this_  is so much worse. I mean, you're not even  _breathing_  right now, you might just die."

He waited a few more, painful minutes. When nothing happened, Dean let out a heavy breath.

"Alright then you stubborn son of a bitch. We'll do it your way. Just know that I'm with you. However this plays out, I've got you."

Dean didn't say how it would destroy him to have to build another pyre, or how much it would hurt watching his friend slowly rot away on that bed until his newly frail body just gave out. It didn't matter, the hurt wasn't important. Cas had made his choice. He wanted to stay. Damn him but he always chose to stay.

 

***

 

Sam stopped Jack at the door to the dungeon. He looked shaken and nervous, but he didn't quite have the same terror in his eyes that Sam felt in his veins. All of the boy's fear was born of worry for Cas and Sam understood why. The look on Dean's face when Cas stopped moving, the sound of his voice trying to call him back, as if words were all he had. Those things would haunt him for a long time. Especially if things went badly.

"Listen, Jack, before we go in, I just want to warn you. Lucifer's dangerous."

"Castiel said he wouldn't be able to hurt me."

"He won't," Sam said quickly, "and he'd be stupid to try, especially with half his grace missing, but that's not what I'm talking about. Your father is manipulative and clever and he always has at least three plans for pretty much any given scenario. You need to be careful in there."

Jack frowned, "I just want him to tell me how to save Castiel."

"I know," Sam put a comforting hand in his shoulder, leaning down slightly to look Jack more directly in the eye, "but to Lucifer, words are a weapon. He's going to try and shake you, maybe try and learn more about you and especially about your powers. He's going to want to use you in the future and  _anything_  you tell him might be used against you later. And watch how he words things. You're gonna need the specific details on how to help Cas, vague statements won't help you. So if you need to, get him to clarify things. But," Sam added reluctantly, "he's unlikely to outright lie to you. He prides himself on honesty, though he's an expert at twisting words so they sound like something else completely. Do you understand?"

Jack nodded solemnly "I think so." He said. Then he hesitated, "you know him very well."

Sam afforded Jack a small, almost sarcastic smile, "yeah, we had plenty of time to get to know each other." Sam said, "if you want, I'll tell you about it later, but we don't really have the time right now, okay?"

Jack nodded again, when he looked away, towards the dungeon door, Sam stepped in front of him, bracing himself, squaring his shoulders and pushing down his anxiety. He  _hated_  the thing behind this door. It had taken so much from him, his past, his  _sanity_. But right now, Lucifer was their only chance at saving Cas. Sam thought of his friend, and then he thought of his brother. That was enough to give him the strength to pull open the door.

"Sammy-boy! Sweet of you to bring be a dungeon-warming gift but Deany-Weenie beat you to the punch. I  _was_  kinda disappointed, he doesn't change much, does he? Even stuck in another universe for months and he's already spewing about his pet ang- and  _you_  must be Jack."

"Castiel isn't Dean's pet." Jack said, as though he was explaining something very simple to a child. Lucifer smirked in response and the sight sent chills down Sam's spine.

"Sure he isn't, kid." He winked at Sam as though they knew different, Sam crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"You know why we're here; tell Jack how to separate Cas' self from his grace."

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand at him and Sam forced himself to repress a flinch, something which, judging from Lucifer's wide grin, didn't go unnoticed.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get to that. Can you not give me a moment to introduce myself to my  _son_?"

He strode forward, hand outstretched in a friendly manner, Jack didn't move, he just cocked his head.

"We already know who the other is. Why would we introduce ourselves?"

Sam snorted and Lucifer dropped his hand, raising an eyebrow.

"Because it's  _polite_." He said, "but fine, if these mud monkeys haven't taught you manners then that's hardly your fault."

"Manners…" Jack repeated slowly, "like not insulting somebody's friends by calling them names?"

Sam snorted again, not least because of the way that Lucifer pursed his lips in an expression that was half-amused, half-annoyed.

"Alright, I'll give you that one," he said. "But to be fair, I  _am_  the Prince of Darkness, I can't be getting a reputation for observing all the social niceties." He winked at Sam then, "besides, me and Sam are a special case, things just wouldn't be right if I didn't insult you every so often, isn't that right, boo?"

Sam said nothing. He had no retorts, no clever jibes. All he had was his hatred and his need to protect Jack.

"How can I fix Castiel?" Jack asked, stepping forward. He didn't look scared, he didn't even look wary. Sam felt pride welling in his chest.

"Come on, kid! This is the first time we're meeting and all you wanna talk about is some other guy? That's cold."

"Castiel is my father."

"Ouch." Lucifer placed a hand on his chest, "now that stings, Kiddo.  _Also_ , not true, I mean, you've met the guy, do you really think  _he's_  capable of gettin' the job done? If you know what I'm saying." Lucifer twisted his lips in mockery. Sam just glared at him, he couldn't help recalling the very awkward talk he had had with Jack after Dean made one too many lewd jokes and piqued the kid's curiosity. Sam had fumbled through it as best he could. Answering all of the questions Jack had asked. He figured there was no point in acting as though it was an uncomfortable topic, their lives were far harder than that.

"I know what you're saying," Jack said. "You're implying that Castiel couldn't have had sex with my mother. But I didn't mean that he was my father biologically."

Lucifer rolled his eyes, "you're a very literal kid, you know that? That was a  _joke_."

"I know." Jack said lightly, "but it wasn't very funny."

Sam's lips quirked upwards again at the look of exasperation on Lucifer's face.

"Tell me how to fix Castiel." Jack continued, "you told Dean that you would."

"Yeah, well I  _also_  once told Dean that time travel and teleportation were whole different systems so…"

"So you lied."

"Now… come on, it wasn't  _truly_  a lie, they  _are_  different. Haven't you ever tried to fly across the state and ended up in the 60s? It's trippy, I can tell ya." He shot a sly, almost hungry look at Jack before turning away, seeming uninterested.

Jack frowned. "I can time travel?"

"You tell me kid, can you?"

"I never  _have_."

"Doesn't mean you can't. I could teach you. When I'm fully charged again, that is. I'm probably the only one who can. Only archangels' wings still work after the Fall." He paused, "you know, there are a  _lot_  of things I can teach you that dear old Cassie just won't be able to. Especially once he turns human again. You're gonna need someone to… ah… take you under their wing, as it were." He smiled at the ironic turn of phrase.

"He's not interested." Sam said heatedly.

The Devil quirked an eyebrow, "Really? 'Cause he  _looks_  pretty interested to me."

Sam clenched his jaw, he was right, Jack did look tempted. Sam couldn't really blame him, what Lucifer said was true, he might be the only one able to teach him how to use his powers. Not everything could be explained theoretically. Lucifer could  _show_  him how to be the angel part of himself. But Sam knew that time travel and flying lessons wouldn't be the only things on Lucifer's syllabus.

"Jack," Sam said carefully, "remember what I said outside, this is what I meant by it."

"Ahh, I  _knew_  you'd have said something to turn the kid against me." Lucifer said, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. "Sounds to me like neither you, your brother _nor_  your precious Cas-wipe trust the kid to make up his own mind."

"I trust him," Sam snapped, "It's  _you_  I have the issue with."

Lucifer scoffed, "Sure."

Jack glanced back at Sam uncertainly. Then faced Lucifer again.

"I'm only here in the first place because you can help Castiel," he said, "so if you're not going to tell me how to do it, I might as well leave." He turned back towards the door and made as if to stride past Sam.

"Wait!" Lucifer called, a little too desperately, the tone caught Sam by surprise. Jack stopped.

"Okay, you're right. Cassie's whole thing has a time limit so we can postpone this  _particular_  conversation until he's a newly-minted human, I get it. But once he is, I expect you to come and see me. See, part of this deal I made was that your bodyguards help me take down alternate Michael if I help them. Which means I'm gonna have to stick around for a while. There'll be plenty of time for use to bond. Deal?"

"I won't make a deal with you." Jack said flatly, "talking will probably be inevitable and your deal with Dean would make this one irrelevant."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"He's smart, ain't he?"

"He gets it from his mother." Sam said, smiling at the boy who beamed back at him. Lucifer shot Sam a glare that somehow  _didn't_  make Sam's insides curdle. He felt okay, he felt almost in control. He took a steadying breath as Lucifer turned his attention back to Jack.

"Alright, fine. Listen up, kid."

 

***

 

The door opened and Dean's head jerked up. Jack slipped in, followed by Sam.

"How'd it go?"

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling, "we got it. Jack did brilliantly." Then his face sobered, "how is he?"

"I dunno, Sam. It's kinda hard to tell when he's not moving." Dean said, more sharply than he meant to, then he sighed, "he's alive. I think. He's still got some grace in there somewhere."

"He  _is_  alive." Jack confirmed. "But he doesn't have long."

"Right, well get to it, short-stop," Dean said, standing and gesturing for Jack to take his place on the chair.

Jack glanced at him apologetically, "I'll need to concentrate." He said pointedly.

Dean scowled

"You won't even know we're here."

"Dean," Sam said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder, the weight warm and comforting. Dean almost argued, almost insisted that he stay, he  _needed_  to stay, like Cas had chosen to stay. But Sam guided him, gently but firmly, from the room. He glanced back once, but the kid obscured Cas from view.

He ended up sat at the kitchen table, nursing a beer Sam had brought him. His brother sat opposite, worried and ready to talk. Dean said nothing. He'd used up all of his words.

"So Cas is gonna be human."

Dean grunted.

"Is he gonna be able to move?"

Dean shrugged and swigged at his beer.

"What are we gonna do?"

"What do you mean?" Dean looked up suspiciously. Sam was leaning towards him and he swore to Chuck there was goddamn  _pity_  in his eyes.

"Dean, if he's just gonna lie there, unable to move or blink himself, maybe not even able to  _breathe_  on his own, what are we going to do?"

"Whatever it takes, Sam." Dean said darkly. "There's gotta be a spell somewhere that can help, even a little, right? Or a deal, Hell, we've still got Lucifer in the basement. And now Asmodeus is probably dead there must be a crossroads demon  _somewhere_  that we could owe a favour to. If we can just get him able to move again then it'll be worth it."

"What if he just… dies?"

Dean's jaw clenched at the harshness of the words. "If he dies as a human, then he'll go to Heaven. Who knows? Maybe those winged dickbags won't notice if he slips in under the radar. That's gotta be better than just… nothing, right?"

Sam frowned, but didn't disagree. "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, we steal a life support machine and look after him." Dean said.

"Dean-"

Dean cut his brother off, holding up a hand, "this isn't an open discussion, Sam. You don't have to help if you don't want to but I'm not chucking him out. I'm not gonna just dump him in some hospital to lie there, alone, until we can find something that might help. He stays here, at home and I'll feed him and clean him up and close his damn eyes for him if I have to until we find something."

"And what if we can't? What if there  _isn't_  anything? And even if there is, what if we don't have time to look for it until this whole apocalypse world thing is sorted out?"

"So what, we abandon him in some home somewhere?"

"Maybe. At least temporarily. I'm just saying it's an option. Dean, it's better than giving up our whole lives for someone who won't be able to help us."

A ringing silence followed these words.

"Wow." Dean said, voice dripping with repressed anger. "Wow. So is  _that_  how you think family works? You only keep 'em around as long as they're  _useful_ , then you throw 'em away like trash?"

"No, of  _course_  not. That's not what I meant." Sam stumbled over the words, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. I just mean that our lives are  _hard._ We travel the country, we hunt monsters, together. Any given hunt can take from a few hours to a few  _weeks_. And I need you to watch my back out there. If Cas can't look after himself, it's too dangerous to bring him with us; sooner or later, he'll become a target and we won't be able to leave him  _here_  because he'll need  _constant_  care, care that we can't give him. It's just not possible."

"We owe him so much, Sammy." Dean said quietly, conflicting opinions and pain colliding and swirling around his mind. "I  _can't_  just abandon him."

"We have more people to think about than just Cas." Sam said gently, "the entire  _world_  relies on us to kill the bad guys and save the day. I'm sorry, I know that you want to help him and look after him but you can't be his full-time carer, not with what we still have to do."

"I  _owe_  him." Dean mumbled stubbornly.

Sam flashed him an understanding smile. "See,  _that's_  not how family works either, Dean. You help each other out 'cause it's the right thing, 'cause you care about them. Family doesn't count debts." He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "I wish I could make this easier for you," he said, sounding pained. "I wish there was a better option. But I just want to make sure you're prepared for what comes next, whatever comes next. If he lives, he'll be human; if he can move, he might not be the Cas we knew; if he can't, that might be permanent and we won't be able to care for him. I need to know that  _you're_  going to be okay. Whatever happens."

"Sammy, I might be about to lose my best friend, you can't possibly expect me to be okay."

"Not immediately," Sam said, almost pleading, "not for a while, maybe, but eventually. You need to be able to get through this. Cas might not have much of a life left to live."

"I can do it." Dean said, swallowing hard. "I always do. He chose this. This is what he wanted."

"What do you mean?"

Dean explained, haltingly, mumbling in as few words as possible, about the choice he had given Cas, and the option the angel had picked. He felt guilty as hell for not telling Cas sooner, maybe Dean would have been able to persuade him to go.

"So-" he said, draining the last of his beer, "I've got his back on this."

"And I'll be here to help you. Tell me what you need."

"I need him to be alright." Dean said immediately. It wasn't a fair response, he knew, but it was the only thing he could come up with right now. "I just… I need him." He trembled and felt a couple of tears shake loose at the admission.

Sam's eyes softened and he reached across the table to grip Dean's forearm.

"I know." He said sadly. "I'm sorry."

Dean passed a hand over his face, trying to compose himself. Cas had made the decision, it was the least he could do to respect it, no matter what that meant. Sam frowned at him when he looked up.

"Don't do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Put on a mask. Like all you have to do is just endure whatever it is until you have the time to break down. Like you have a deadline on how long you can keep going."

"We all have a deadline, Sam." Dean said, pointedly.

"This is one of those things I can't stand about you, Dean. You're always living  _for_  someone else. You became a Hunter for Dad, you sold your  _soul_  for me, you tortured Alastair for Cas, you took out Azazel for Mom, you killed Dick for Bobby and you went after the Steins for Charlie. Every case we work you are willing to  _die_  for whoever it is that needs our help, whether you like them or not, you will put yourself in harm's way, use yourself as bait, do whatever it takes to make sure that  _you're_  the only one getting hurt. It's like you only value yourself by what you can give for other people. I swear the  _only_  time I have seen you live for yourself was the year before you went to Hell. And even that you gave up because  _I_  needed you to fight for your own damn life. Now this? You're willing to watch as the man you love withers away to nothing because you're too afraid and too freaking stubborn to admit that that will  _kill_  you!"

Dean flinched like Sam had hit him and Sam's eyes went wide, seeming to realise what he'd just said. The room became deathly still. Dean's brain shuddered to a halt as Sam stuttered out a string of sounds, scrambling desperately to take it all back. But it was too late. The air was heavy with them.

Dean snatched up his beer bottle and stood, taking it over to the recycling bin and dropping it in. The sound of glass shattering wasn't enough to drown out the words, but it made them both jump. Dean fetched another beer and twisted the top off, the hiss of gas escaping and the clatter as the bottle top landed on the counter were deafening, and not nearly loud enough to his ears.

"Dean-" Sam tried, but Dean just shook his head. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to talk at all. He just wanted to drink until he couldn't see. But he couldn't even do that because they were waiting for news. News about Cas, news that could shape the rest of his life.

 

_The man you love._

 

Dean downed almost half the bottle in one long gulp, slamming it down onto the counter so hard that it shattered. Glass exploded and brown sticky liquid coated his hand. Dean cursed and grabbed a tea towel.

"Here, let me." Sam's soft voice said as he pulled the towel from Dean's grip. Taking his hand, Sam ran it under the cold tap for a few seconds to wash off the blood and beer. Then, he inspected the hand, and, finding only a couple of superficial scratches, patted it dry using the towel. Dean watched him impassively, allowing his brother's ministrations. His brain still wasn't working right. He was still trying to process those words.

Once his brother finally threw the sodden towel in the sink and tipped the broken shards of glass into the bin, he turned back to Dean, who leaned against the counter.

"Dean," Sam implored. Dean raised his eyes a little but stopped somewhere around Sam's chin. He couldn't bring himself to meet his brother's gaze, he didn't want to see what was hidden there.

"I shouldn't have said those things, I'm sorry."

"You don't  _say_  it, Sam." Dean said, looking away again, into the sink where the remains of beer and froth clung to the red fabric. "That's how this works, you don't  _ever say it_."

"Why?"

Dean just shook his head. He didn't have the words to explain. How could he say it when even admitting it to himself would mean that everything changed? Why bother when everything was  _always_  changing? There was no calm, there was no  _after_ ; there was just the next problem, the next fight, the next Hunt, the next apocalypse and on and on until they were dead. It didn't matter what he  _wanted_. He couldn't have it anyway so saying it out loud was pointless. And it hurt way too much.

Suddenly, Sam pulled him into a hug; one hand on the back of his head, the other around his shoulders. It was a few moments before Dean could reciprocate, bringing his shaking hands around to cling tightly to the back of Sam's shirt. This kind of hug was one that invited sobbing, invited emotion. Dean's head was buried in Sam's chest as opposed to over his shoulder. It was a vulnerable position, but it felt safe too, although he wouldn't start bawling like some teenager with a broken heart. Sam made soothing noises that cracked with his voice. He apologised over and over again, telling him that it was okay, that everything would be okay, apparently his 'be prepared', tough-love attitude abandoning him. Dean barely heard him. He just stood there, letting his brother hold him. Feeling himself beginning to crack, beginning to break, but he pulled away before he did, wiping his cheeks with his hand. Then, he took the seat facing the kitchen door and Sam sat opposite. Waiting to see just what level of bad they would be dealing with.

Whatever it was, Dean would endure.

 

***

 

Jack felt his eyes glow as he laid his hands on Castiel's head, power thrummed through him, warm, awesome,  _dangerous_  power. It was better than nougat and worse than ghouls at the same time, it was beautiful and terrible and it felt  _really_  good. He fought the part of him that wanted to shy away, break the connection, if he did that, he would never learn and he wouldn't save Castiel and he would let his family down. He pushed on, searching out Castiel's grace. It took longer than it should have. Ordinarily, Jack could see Castiel's grace easily, even when just looking at his vessel, but now he had to search for it. It was hiding from him, curled into a protective ball deep in his body's core.

"It's alright, Castiel," Jack said, "I'm trying to help you." He reached for it but it cowered away from him. Perhaps he had been a little hasty. He slowed, trying to coax it to him. This was important, Lucifer had told him. The grace that remained would be trying to protect the  _self_  and he had to get to the self inside. He couldn't just blast the grace away without destroying the self too. This required precision, not power. It was that sentiment that terrified Jack the most. For as long as he'd been alive he'd been heavy-handed with his powers. Relying on force to make the bad things disappear, but Lucifer had assured him that that wouldn't work this time. Jack bit his lip and retreated a little. He was still finding it difficult to distinguish the  _self_  from the  _grace_. The ball of angelic essence stank of rotting leaves and scorched earth. It wasn't unpleasant exactly, but it wasn't the sense of vibrancy and life that Castiel normally exuded and that scared him. Nonetheless, he tried to look for the densest part. The problem was,  _all_  of it was dense. There were no branching tendrils, no thinner parts were exposed. It was one tight ball of Castiel.

Jack reached for it with his own power, slowly, gently, he picked it up. It quivered in his grasp. Not like it was scared, but like it was concerned. That certainly  _felt_ like Castiel. He wondered how much of him was left? Was he worried that a stranger was handling him in this way? Was we wondering what Jack was doing in his head? Could he even string thoughts together? Those questions made him sad. He turned Castiel over and inspected him for a weak spot. But the grace and self combined was perfectly, evenly distributed. Jack contemplated this. Lucifer had made it sound like although the two were intimately linked, the grace would always manifest on the outside to protect the more vulnerable self. It made sense theoretically but that didn't quite match with what he saw. There was too little of it. Castiel and his grace were one. So what was it protecting?

He gently prodded at a small section of Castiel's self and gasped as he received snatches of images and words, they combined to form the knowledge of trees and how to identify them by their leaf shape, bark texture and the aura they gave out. Jack drew back; so these fragments of self were certain sections of memory that Castiel had managed to hold on to. Broken and interspersed throughout his grace. Perhaps to prevent all of his combined memories being expelled at once, to improve the chances of retaining as much self as possible. Jack wondered when Castiel had done this, fragmenting his self. Perhaps it had been as soon as he knew he'd been poisoned, or perhaps, more likely, it had been when he had run out of excess grace, that would have been the most practical time, and Jack had learned that Castiel was a very practical person. So wouldn't spreading out further have been the more practical move now rather than in a condensed, easily expellable huddle? Jack frowned as he stared down at the essence of the angel he had trusted before he was born, the man who had made him feel safe. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this and he didn't have much time, already he could feel Castiel's grace beginning to rebel with the poison, trying to remove itself and its corruption from Castiel's body, and the self with it.

"Help me." Jack begged. He didn't know what to do. How could he separate the self from the grace when it was fractured like this? Lucifer hadn't told him how to put the self back together, only that interfering with the self at all was dangerous and could shatter whatever mind Castiel had left. "I want to fix you, I'm trying to help. Please, show me what to do."

The ball in his hands did nothing, he wasn't sure Castiel even had any control of it anymore, Lucifer had warned him of that.

 

_***_

" _It won't be some nice reunion with Dumbledore at King's Cross" he had said, then, seeing Jack's confusion, he backtracked, "boy, you are gonna_ have _to get around to those as some point. Wait till you meet Bellatrix, she's the_ best _character, hands down. But what I mean is, there won't be some Cas shaped being that can talk you through what to do. He might be aware of what's going on, but depending on how much he's already lost… Well, introspective communication like that is tricky at the best of times and it's unlikely he'll have the grace to try."_

_***_

 

Jack bit his lip, perhaps he could try separating each piece of self before blasting the grace? If he had all the pieces, they might heal on their own. But something inside him disagreed. Something wasn't right. There was something he didn't know. Something about the shape Castiel had chosen to take, an offhand comment Lucifer had made, the way that Dean always talked about trusting his instincts. So Jack took a leap of faith and reached with his power, colliding with and pushing  _through_  the thin layer of grace, gasping as he collided with snapshots of Castiel's memory, the peace of the garrison at rest, the blood and pain of war, losing the ability to use his wings, Jack pushed through them all, hoping he wasn't causing more damage, hoping he was doing the right thing; hoping.

 

***

 

Dean had spent the last ten minutes in silence, ignoring the way that Sam kept glancing at him positively oozing concern, fully aware that he had put his 'mask' back on. Well tough crap. He needed it. He needed his Hunter face, he needed to be professional, practical, detached. Sam _should_ be proud of him, he was always saying how Dean thought with his emotions instead of his brain. He needed to push that aside now. He needed to ignore the snakes in his gut and the way that his ears were ringing. He just needed to wait for the verdict. He had a plan. If Cas was no longer Cas, he would help set him up with a new life, let him choose a new name and find him a place in whatever town in whatever state he wanted to go to. If Cas was still comatose then he would call Mary, get her to stop by the nearest hospital and steal a life support machine on her way back from Jody's, then, he would keep Cas breathing until she got back. Longer term in  _that_  scenario, he would watch over Cas for as long as he could until he finally couldn't. Then, they'd check him in somewhere close by, somewhere he could visit and go as often as he could, in between searching for a way to get him back on his feet. If Cas was  _dead_ , well… he'd been through that already. Maybe that meant he was better equipped to get through it this time. Or maybe he just wouldn't. Admittedly, that plan was less well thought out.

After what felt like an age and the blink of an eye, Jack appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted and confused.

"I don't know what happened," he gasped, leaning heavily against the door jamb, seeming unaware that Dean's entire world was crashing around his ears. "I just… I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Is he-?" Dean asked his voice cold and emotionless. He couldn't even fathom how to finish that question, there were too many possibilities, which one should he hope for?

"he-" Jack said, gesturing, apparently just as unable to finish his answer.

"It's alright Jack," said Cas, patting the kid on the shoulder. "You should get some rest. You've done enough for today. Thank you."

Jack nodded gratefully and gave Cas a quick hug before retreating. Sam gaped as Cas stood in the doorway, looking much the same as he always did, though perhaps a little sheepish. Dean knew instinctively that something more than human stood in front of him, something unearthly, something celestial. This was an Angel of the Lord.

"Hello, Dean." He said.

Dean let out a sound that he wasn't even sure he could identify, somewhere between a groan and a whine as he slid out of his chair, not even able to stand. So much for his impenetrable mask.

"Cas?" Sam said, his eyes sliding away from where his brother knelt. "You, uh, you remember us then?"

"All of my memories are intact, yes," Cas said, "as are my powers. At least, what has remained of my powers since the Fall. My wings are still useless."

Dean's brain was completely fried. He hadn't expected this, hadn't considered it as an option, hadn't even  _dared_  to hope for it. And yet, here he was, Cas, the Cas that he knew, his best friend, his guardian, and he could only sit on the ground and stare, cold seeping into his knees from the tiles, this wasn't real, this  _couldn't_ be real. Cas was broken, comatose or dead and Dean's mind had just cracked, unable to handle it.

"How?" He choked. Castiel moved to kneel in front of him. Taking his hands in his own he looked down, noticing the still lightly bleeding cuts from the broken glass of the beer bottle. He huffed in displeasure and pressed his fingers to Dean's palm. That familiar warmth, that comforting feeling, that  _grace_  made his hand tingle. He looked down and the cuts were gone, as was the blood.

"Jack managed to save my grace," he said, loud enough that Sam could hear too, "He found an untainted speck, apparently, within the core part of my self."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, seeming to realise that Dean was incapable of sounds of more than one syllable.

"It means that some of my self, one  _particular_  collection of memories, was pure enough to cleanse a tiny portion of my grace. I condensed it as much as I could, tried to protect it. Once that portion was separated from the rest, Jack burned away the corruption. It took a few minutes for my grace to replenish but then it was able to heal my  _self_. Completely. I am whole, and unharmed, and I am sorry that I caused you pain." His voice dropped at the end, as though he was speaking it directly to Dean.

"Was that why you chose to stay? 'Cause you knew this could happen?" Dean's voice cracked. He still wasn't sure he believed, he reached up his newly healed hand and grabbed onto the lapel of Cas', now clean, trench-coat. The fabric was coarse under his fingers, but not without softness.

"It was a hope that I decided was worth the risk." Cas murmured, "but it wasn't the only reason I decided to stay. I'm tired of running, of leaving. I've been trapped by that cycle for a long time. The only way I could truly choose freedom would be to stay  _here_ , whatever that meant for me."

Cas pressed their foreheads together, one hand sliding to the back of Dean's neck; their breath mingling. Dean closed his eyes. Inhaling Cas' sent, feeling the cloth of the trench-coat under his palm and the thrum of grace and pulses of power that reminded him of safety, of all-night drives in the Impala, of the hum of the television when he fell asleep watching old movies, of home.

"Cas," he breathed the name slowly, reverently, savouring the sound of it on his tongue.

"Thank you for giving me the option. Thank you for everything that you said. You gave me the courage I needed."

"I-" Dean felt completely overwhelmed. Here it was, everything he wanted, everything he had never thought he'd feel again, kneeling in front of him, holding them together like he was just as desperate for the contact, like  _he_  needed this too.

 

_But saying makes it real, and if it's real, it can be lost._

 

Dean dropped his hand from the coat and pulled back, pulled away, breaking the spell of intensity that had trapped him in that moment. He felt cold as he did so. His eyes slid over to where Sam had been sitting, the chair was empty, huh, Dean hadn't heard him leave. Then he looked back at those eyes and his insides turned to pudding. Cas was real and he was  _right there_.

But Dean had never known how to try and get something he wanted. Not something he truly, desperately wanted. He had tried not to want like that, he had tried so hard, no good came of this kind of want, it wasn't fair. So instead, Dean pulled Cas into an awkward, kneeling hug, taking the angel by surprise. Dean slapped him on the back a few times and hoped it would be enough. Then he forced himself to stand, Cas did the same. He was too close, he was  _always_  too close, but right now it felt like too much of an invitation, a temptation. He stepped back and something painful flickered across the angel's face.

"So, err…" Dean said casually, clearing his throat after a few, hopefully subtle, deep breaths, "what memories were major enough that they could detox your grace?"

Cas tilted his head, his eyes warm and open despite Dean's obvious attempt at diverting the topic.

"Every moment I fell in love with you."

Dean's eyes went wide and he choked,

"Wh-what?"

"The purest memories I have are the ones when I realised just how deeply I love you."

"Cas, I-"

 

_We don't ever say it._

 

"Would you like me to list them?" Cas asked, his gaze intensifying, "there are a lot."

"I can't-"

"I know." Cas sighed. "I know, I'm just… I'm tired of it remaining unspoken. You deserve to  _know_ , Dean. You deserve to hear it. Even if you don't feel the same."

 

_Saying it makes it real._

 

Dean's mouth opened and closed as he looked at Cas, the angel smiled sadly and started to turn away.

 

 _But don't you_ want _it to be real?_

 

Dean's arm shot out and he grabbed Cas' hand. He let out a sound that was half a sob but he just couldn't form the words, he  _couldn't_.

Cas looked back at him and something shifted in his expression as he saw the words in Dean's eyes, in the way his mouth worked, trying to force them out, in the way his hand gripped desperately at the angel's own. Dean didn't know how else he could say it. The sounds of the words abandoned him.

But Cas understood. Like always, he understood. He stepped back into Dean's space so they were almost chest to chest, his free hand reached up to cup his face, his thumb stroking away a tear, tracing his cheekbone.

"This is one of those moments." Cas said breathlessly. "It's alright, Dean, you don't need to say it."

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. Cas leaned upwards and pressed his lips to Dean's. It was chaste and soft and so, so sweet. His lips tingled as if with static when Cas finally pulled away.

Dean felt another tear fall. Castiel wiped that one away too, then he let his hand drop. With his other hand he squeezed Dean's fingers.

"I do though." Dean said, his voice bursting from him, almost before he even realised it. "You know I do. Right?"

Cas smiled, and damn but if that wasn't the best thing he'd seen all day.

"Come on," Cas said, gently pulling him towards the kitchen door. "It has been a  _very_  long day and you need to sleep. I'll watch over you."

Dean let himself be pulled to his room. All of his accumulated exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours finally crashing into him in one, overpowering wave. He was drained, he was elated, he was bewildered and he was just so tired. His mind was still racing with responsibility, Lucifer in the dungeon, the deal he had made, the next apocalypse to avert.

He laid on the bed and Cas laid down next to him without him having to ask. Dean let himself be folded into Cas like a child, and suddenly, none of those concerns seemed to matter quite so much, Nothing that couldn't wait until morning. He let himself savour the warmth and the calm and the safety that enveloped him. Dean let himself drift off to sleep in the arms of the man he loved.

It was the best night's rest he'd had in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the grand finale. What do you think? Does it hold up? Was it believable? Do you like it? What is your favourite flavour of soup? These are all important questions that I need to know the answers to.
> 
> The time has come to say goodbye to you wonderful people who have subscribed and kudosed and bookmarked and read and commented and squeed and cried and stuck with me until the very end.
> 
> But don't worry, there will be other fics (probably nowhere near as long) coming in the near future, I daresay the rest of the season is going to give me plenty of Destiel material to work with.
> 
> I hope to see you there.
> 
> All of my love and exhaustion and gratitude are yours. Do what you will with them.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


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